Another Note: Crime Scenes
by Resting-Madness
Summary: Sometimes it's hard to decipher what's more important... Solving a crime... Or solving a Killer. Also pairs NearxGevanni
1. Chess Begins

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Death Notes characters. I don't own the underlying or idea of the show. I would say I don't own the locations mentioned but that's obvious that I don't own Tokyo or London or any other place mentioned in this work of fiction. I don't get paid for this, but wouldn't that be kickin'?

**Appreciation: **To reader Carottal, a big thank you for helping the sentences in French more natural and correct. It's a big help.

x x x

"Aww, are you kidding?" Cried a little boy when he felt the first drop hit his chubby cheek. "I'll see you guys tomorrow." He went tearing across the street for home, after momentarily having to watch out from bumping into a lanky male, who's walking casually along.

"Yeah, bye Eric!" A tomboy called after him, before holding out her hand to see that it is, in fact, beginning to rain.

Taking leave herself, as do the rest of the small pack of playing friends, she hurries on home before the sky erupts.

_Beeping cars of nervous drivers are left to move dangerously among other slower drivers, but all of them are seeking to get somewhere out of the coming weather. Walkers without portable protection hurry into a nearby store or pick up their pace to go home, some hide beneath an awning until they can come out._

_People have certain reactions to the dull wet weather, but what it comes down to are two reactions... They love it, or they hate it. For me... it's a gray necessity. So I walk in the rain._

Large black eyes turn up towards the sky as a dark cloud blankets the town of Bedford Row in Holborn. The homes are thin and stuck together in a row along the wide street, it's an active place despite its lack of gardens for a kid to have a thoroughly good day of play, but there are parks nearby to do as you will.

The wind is moving slowly through the air, so the clouds aren't being severely pushed; it's going to give the coming rain a long time to come down in the neighborhoods and city.

_Some are calmed by the serenity of the gray sky, looking out at the dim like it's the pacifier to their infant souls or the cup of tea that battles a stressful day- coffee, or sweets for others._

_There are others who are spring into a greater hurry, because of the graying sheet in the sky. They want nothing to do with what comes next, not the drone of the elements coming down in a hard splatter on the ground, louder once the wetness has gathered into itself in pockets decorating the London streets._

_They don't like being left to stand in the alone of no one wanting to go out, or to be in the company of teary children who are just plain bored since their friends aren't going to come over, and they aren't allowed to go out._

_It's that slowed down a cup of tea, it's that 'better get moving' hurry. It's the darkness in the light. It is... the rain._

The drops of rain came falling from the sky in a torrential downpour as if there were a word 'Go'. They hit everything. The buildings, the cars, the people, toys left on the lawn. Anything left exposed the rain came down to touch.

_They're like children playing if that's how you'd like to see the little drops. Children finding surfaces to slip and slide down from, like all the world were a playground. I suppose the wind could act as a swing when it blows the droplets slant._

His black hair is soaked to a wilt like a peeled banana turned upside down; his clothes are soaked through to the skin. And his skin soaked through to the bone. And his bones are absorbing it into the whole, as the detective walks through the rain. Hands arrested by his tightly soaked back pockets, and pace set to 'casual stroll', he walks through the streets.

There are some who dream a little darker, some who see- not little-playing children- but jumpers of purposeful or accidental suicide. From a plane with no parachute. From a bridge with no bungee, A window of a home, or even a small step off a chair... granted you have a long way down and rope around your neck.

His large eyes remove themselves from the sky, and instead he looks down onto the street he's treading with bare, exploring feet.

_To me, they are neither playing children nor suicidal souls... they're gatherers. Employed by the grim sky that can hear what the city has to say, it sends its gatherers running along with the stories that the authoring city has to tell, then bringing them to me at a rapid pace as they swirl around my feet._

_I'm walking to hear of their tales, short stories or long they all come to me because I... am willing to listen._

_I don't listen to the shouts of parents calling in straggling children, or the honking horns of cars being cut off by one another. I listen to the rain and its stories of the macabre. I was once told of a tale where a Mother burned 2 of her three children to death, then leaped from the window with the third. The wet ash and smoke in the air liquidized and flowed down along the streets of the London neighborhood._

_A young boy was bludgeoned to death by a bully, who chose to hit him just a bit too hard one dreary afternoon._

_There once was a man from Yorkshire who'd been flung into a tree, his asphyxiated corpse was knocked down onto the street. And where happy sunshine calling "play with me", will ignore it... the rain does not. And the weight of its gathering forces into the body dragged it down, like a demon bringing a victim to Hell. A story of murder._

_So I walk in the rain..._

_What tale will I be told today, as I make my way up the road and to the hospital?_

As if on cue, red ribbons begin flowing, circulating, and slithering around his feet like serpents striking for a meal. His index finger rose to his bottom lip as if he were overcome with an almost child-like curiosity, and a desire to touch a forbidden item presented to him. Following the stream, he's led to one of the many slender, tall homes along the street; the stone stairs are darkened from gray to red since the source of the bleed is standing on the second step before the rain drenched traveler.

The detective cocks his head as their eyes lock, they almost seemed to be taking each other in. He and the victim? Or he and the murderer?

The man is wondering why someone would be out and about in this dreary weather before he could even begin calling for help. And the drenched detective is wondering if the blood-soaked man is covered in his own blood after having escaped a terrible home invasion, or if it's the blood of someone he's just gotten through killing?

He got his answer when the man stumbled down the stone stairs to stand before him, and in a raspy, weak voice... he says. "Help me." Before he collapses to the wet sidewalk.

That was one week ago, in the last week of April. It's now May 3rd, the year is 2015.

_Mail. Would you care to explain why your medical bills have already been paid for? -**L**_

Curt, and to the point. That was L for ya. At least, when he was trying to be intimidating. Point L. Matt, of course, had to smile. He had skillfully hacked into some rich pricks bank account, and paid for his medical bills, closing his link between them before it could so much as be whiffed as a possibility that something went on.

But, turned out, L planned on paying his medical bills for him. Who knew!?

Matt felt a twitch of a frown at the corner of his mouth. Deep down, hacking a system like that... He wanted to do it, _needed_ to do it. Those Japanese officers firing on him were not part of the plan Mello had cooked up. He really thought that he was dead. He felt death's cold hands grip him tight, hug him close, and before he knew what happened... He awoke in the hospital with a nurse helping him eat.

He didn't speak- couldn't speak, actually; everything was muddy and fogged over. He thought he saw L, for real! But without his goggles to help with sharpness, it was really hard to say. There were a pale image and a cloud of black hair. No one from Wammy's has seen him, not in person; except maybe Mello- so he claims- but they all knew his basic design thanks to the resident nutcase Beyond Birthday dressing up like him, indefinitely, one year before he left Wammy's behind him for good.

L wasn't dead. He'd faked it when he'd figured out what that Shinigami was up to, unfortunately, it was after Mr. Watari was killed by it. He could only presume that he was next, and he waited for it. When nothing happened he tipped out of the chair and onto the floor.

It's what they were sent over e-mail two months later after it happened. He didn't say who would take his place as L, letting Mello and that punk kid Near fight over it as they continued with the case off of L's notes. Or what was left of them, because during the time L went into hiding, and planned to inform them, Light had erased the data after hacking the system.

But they had the bones: Shinigamis, and a killer notebook. From there, it was all a game of relay racing- a sort of 'pass the baton' of who would catch Kira first. And thus, he was shot at. He'd left the school to join Mello's brigade. He'd follow him anywhere really... Even now.

It took three months to recover from being shot: regain his wits, eating on his own, the use of his right arm, recover from the cracked ribs that were grazed by bullets, learn how to breathe without a machine, and let's not forget to have authorization to going to the bathroom on his own again. Next came solid foods.

Now he's feeling like his old self again; he's even got his abilities back, sharp as ever.

Through it all, Mello was there. He'd brought his goggles to him, and his laptop; he'd even snuck him a pack of cigarettes, that mysteriously disappeared one night ago, about the same time when that little note from L showed up.

He couldn't be mad, though, because along with the note there was a packet of bubblegum, made to look like cigarettes. They used to sell them in the late 80s, he can't imagine where the man would get his hands on some, but for the meantime, they quelled the urge- at least in the sense of having something dangling from his lips.

Matt gagged on the sugar. He'd forgotten it wasn't a real cigarette and took a drag off of it- not for the first time either. His coughing alerted his sleeping lover, seated over by the window. He'd come to pick him up and bring him to L's manor in London, but Matt was asleep at the time.

The excitement of waiting for him to wake up must have been too much for Mello because he had fallen asleep while waiting. The tech-head was on bed rest for one more week and that week has come to an end. Today he was cleared for release, so you think he'd be up and at 'em to go. But have you ever been riddled with bullets? It's not something you just roll out of bed from, even when you are given the go ahead to exist in the real world again.

"Alright Sleeping Beauty, are you finally up?" Matt droned over his mock-cigarette.

"Who're you calling Sleeping Beauty, when you're the bed-ridden sad-sack in need of assistance?"

"Oh, ha ha..." Removing the gum, he set it down on the dresser. "Mel', can we get going? I need a real cigarette before I go insane."

"I'd ask what happened to the pack I gave you before, but I'm guessing you smoked through them." Mello rose from the chair, striding over to the bed. Lifting the pack, he frowned. "Hospital prank?"

"More like an L prank." He frowned, not finding it funny at all.

"He was here!" Mello wondered, looking around as if the man were hiding in the room. "Where is he?"

"Don't know. I just woke up ten minutes ago and found this." He hands him the little slip of paper.

"Oh."

Matt blinked his vision down to his lap. In a quiet voice, he asked without it meaning to be a question. "He's here for h_im_, then?"

"...Yeah." And Mello could spit!

Light Yagami. Fucking Kira! ...Is coming back with them to London. To live in L's home, under his supervision with the rest of them, while they work some new case that's come up. L had gone back to London to prepare everything while the injured remained in Japan since they couldn't travel. And apparently there's been a break-in of a home, and L happened upon a journalist who was at the scene of the crime. It wouldn't even place on their radar, but L said something about it was unique.

In short... They've spent enough time playing hospitalized, it was time to get back to work.

His hand subconsciously came up to his neck; on the back left side of it, there's a little round scar that to the unknowing eye looks like a mole, but it's actually the entrance wound of a tranquilizer dart that had been shot into his neck that day Kiyomi Takada burned that truck.

He thought it was Kira that had killed him. He thought he was dead. But instead, he woke up in the bedroom of a hotel in London. There was a note for him: Matt won't be joining you. Stay put until I contact you. -L was all it said.

It wasn't easy cooling his heels while Kira's sorry ass roamed free, and Near continued on with the investigation alone. He wanted revenge for Matt's death... at least, he thought that Matt was dead. He would have hurried right back onto the scene had it not been for the end of the short note. L. He isn't dead. He tranquilized him and sent him away. Something big must have been cooking, and he couldn't get in the way. As annoying as that was to admit that he would have gotten in the way, had it been Near who'd written the note, but he wouldn't do it to L.

When the pipsqueak caught Kira off of his slip-up, he was then informed that Matt was alive and that he could come to see him until he'd recovered enough to be moved. Matt spent so long in recovery, that he didn't think they'd ever leave Japan. It was fine, though, with Kira captured and unconscious, he could move freely throughout the city.

The day finally came... That day is today. But there was one HUGE and annoying knowledge that came along with it. Kira is coming along.

L told him through a laptop screen that Light Yagami is a terrible human being to waste. He has no memory of being Kira, and he is never to be told of it.

But to Mello, that's bullshit. Kira is Kira. Kira will always know that he's Kira. He's just waiting for the time when he can strike. But then L is L. And for Mello, L's word is law.

Exiting the bathroom, Matt smirks at the contemplative look on Mello's otherwise dangerous face. "Better let me drive if we're gonna make it to the airport by seven, safely." Matt teased when checking the wall clock and seeing that they're just forty minutes from their flight schedule.

"I can drive." He grabbed Matt's suitcase from him before he could even pick it up from the closet.

Grimaced, he rubbed his stomach. "Good thing I didn't eat."

Following closely behind the embittered blond, the two bicker playfully as they exit the hospital.

0 0 0

_'Nnn... Rr.. Nnn... It's no use.'_ He gave an inward sigh. _'...Even in death, I can't find rest...'_

L watched Light's resting body. He wondered how long he was planning on putting up the charade of slumber? Fingers extended, he reaches for a thickly coated chocolate covered strawberry, pinching it by its leaflets to hold it, while he dangled it over his open mouth like a Great White shark moving in on its upward escaping prey.

_'Death is noisier than I would have guessed.'_ His lids blink, remaining closed._ 'Its hard to guess which way I've gone, if either place exists... Sounds of pleasure could go either way.'_

"Mmm... Light, if you're going to pretend to be asleep," L says to the male, "do you think I could have the rest of your strawberries? These ones aren't tart at all."

Although he had to wonder who'd sent them? The Japanese police were forewarned that Kira is officially dead, and Light Yagami no longer exists as a Japanese native. But, then again, Matsuda is an idiot and undoubtedly feels guilty for shooting and ultimately killing Soichiro Yagami's only son. In spite of the man existing in wonder over whether or not his son is Kira, he loved him. And everyone could see it.

There was also the frightening possibility of Misa Amane sending the basket of fruit from beyond the watery grave. He quirked his mouth to the side in thought, as something like that seemed unlikely. Amane's body was fished from the Tone River, 33 hours after she'd gone in. A cab driver saw the deceased model jump from the bridge, on his way home from work hours.

Whoever did it, they have exquisite taste in picking fruit and chocolate.

_'L?' h_is clouded mind wondered. _'Now I really don't know where I am... L's pretty shady; who knows what kinds of things he's done, or laws he's broken while doing his job. He may have convinced me to help him do much of the same.'_

"Light?"

_'Could I be this lucid in death?'_

L leaned forward in his seat, pinched fingers lifting the male's right eyelids. "Light... I should make it aware to you that when a person is deeply asleep their REM count is 20 to 25 percent at the most more as the night nears its end, you're simply hard blinking with your eyes shut. Unless you're experiencing full REM atonia... Mmm," the detective's words came to a halt as he downed another coated piece of fruit, "which would have the body completely paralyzed. _Yours is not_. In short, your brows have furrowed several times. So, you can get up now."

Blinking his eyes open, Light glares at his slumber preventing tormentor.

L cocked his head as a pug dog would when its owner is speaking to it. It was slow at first, those deep hazel eyes registering each physical and non-physical sensation of the human body. Until his gaze settled on the ghost of L, or he should be a ghost. But ghost don't eat. Ghost aren't opaque. And a ghost's gaze doesn't unnerve you the way this man's gaze does.

"I saw you die." He groaned softly.

Placing a hand over his eyes to shield them from the light coming in from the window, he watches L move around the room to check his charts like a resident doctor would. Frightening thought to have L in charge of your body.

"I saw you die multiple times, but here we are." Replied L casually.

The detective watched as the situation slowly began to hit Light's conscience. First, the hospital room, then the realization that he's a patient, next came L, and the overall shocker that he's alive. But how?

He's positive he died. He felt the life drain from his body, he felt his blood oxidizing inside of his stiffening body, and his heart wrench. The last known image in his oxygen starved brain was L coming to take him to the other side. His rival... and friend. L is his friend?

Something seems wrong here. But he can't seem to wrap his thoughts around what.

"Did I... really die?"

Returning to his seat, he begrudgingly repeats himself. "Multiple times. Don't you remember what happened?" He asked.

Light paused. It was an odd thing for him to do because Light Yagami never needs a moment of pause to recall, remember, or imagine anything. It's always just been there. But right now... all he can do is pause.

"I was shot." He answers after a good moment.

"By whom?"

Again. Pause. "There was a shooting in the warehouse district. We were looking in on a cult that was creating super-soldiers who were targeting the Japanese government. The bust got out of hand because of Matsuda firing blindly when all weapons were supposed to be dropped." But it hurt when the memory tried to return to him. The words almost felt like they'd been programmed into him.

"That's correct." He eyes a box of tea cakes he'd brought in himself for the patient. "How do you fare? Not well enough to eat these." He removes the box from the tabletop where the patient's food tray is supposed to rest and begins devouring the cakes as he continues with his personal checklist of Q&amp;A. "So, being shot, you were rushed to the hospital where you've been for six months in recovery. I've told you all this before during your many recoveries and declines."

_'That explains why it feels so rehearsed.'_ Thought Light. _'I've been laid up for six months? But, I know I saw L die. The image is tattooed in my mind!'_ he eyes L's frozen figure that's looking back at him; his pinched fingers holding tightly to the small rainbow-colored fondant covered petit four. "But you died... I held you..."

"We were working a case with your father; it became relevant that I disappear for a while. The building had been bugged, and my identity compromised."

Light tried wrapping his head around the case. "Right. The Jack and Jill case."

"Light is correct again. Considering how many times you've died, your memory is as sharp as ever. It's good to know."

He and L had pretended to be lovers in order to catch a serial killer who'd been offing homosexuals, thus the name Jack and Jill. The case had been named by the killer who'd decided to identify the role of each person within the taboo relationship.

_'And we became close during that...'_ He recalled sharing a room, a bed, and a life with the wide-eyed weirdo detective. 'Hn. We wore cuffs for the case, like our own little marriage-bond- it was ridiculous, but somehow meaningful after a while.'

"The warehouse case, you actually worked with agent N." The detective left the name sort of open-ended so Light can recall it all on his own.

"Near?"

"Mmm mmm, this one has mixed fruit filling." He voiced his pleasure with the sweet first, then replied. "Yes. You butted heads with Near, but ultimately made a good team." L went on filling in the gaps with him. "Your being shot was an accident, but the case was closed."

Grunting while adjusting his lying position to a seated one; L elevates the bed for him, Light continued trying to piece together this odd resurrection. "Where are my parents?" He asked when realizing there was no burst of emotion from a motherly figure coming his way, or his father's relieved words from his son's continued existence, not even Saiyu's laughter and light ribbing that he's, almost, bullet proof.

"Light... Soichiro Yagami died in the warehouse shooting. Your mother is taking care of your sister, who has gone catatonic after being rescued from the cult's human trafficking of its female members."

"Saiyu joined the cult..." His words became very distant as the weight of it sank in. "She was picked up while coming home from school."

"Yes."

"Its why Matsuda fired, someone was holding onto Saiyu... The bullet barely missed her- that idiot! He almost got my sister killed!" Light held onto his stomach as a bullet wound told him to settle down.

L only looked at the male with a sort of mystified disbelief at how amazing the death note's otherworldly powers were that they could do even this much. So long as keywords from the actual events are included in the made-up suggestion. It explained such a major detail in the second Kira's interest in Light while having no knowledge as to why. Her memories were wiped, but the Shinigami left her affections for Light intact.

It doesn't remove the fact that the Shinigami died for Light, in order to strike this deal with L, that Light would not die from the bullet wounds. But will, in fact, live to the ripe old age of 88. A death written to protect a human is, after all, a death written... whether it's gruesome or merciful.

As for the Death Note itself, it's locked away somewhere where Light and no one else can ever get their hands on it.

"Light, your mother has her hands full taking care of your sister... So your care has been handed over to me."

"I'm not an infant, I can take care of myself."

"Not until you're fully recovered, but it isn't caregiving that I've decided to bring you with me to London. I'm working a case, and if and when you're able, I'd like for you to work it with us."

"A case..." He trailed off. _'That's L for you, you're not allowed to be a burden when you can be useful.'_ Looking at the man, Light nods. "Alright. I'll go with you, but only to cut my mother a break. But once I've recovered, I plan to return home and help my mother and Saiyu. She may recover faster if she sees that I'm all right."

L bit his thumb wondering when he offered to stay with him as a choice. He supposed he could fill him in about witness protection later.

"Rest for now. You have one more week in the hospital before your release. I'll go get your lunch." He stands from the chair, returning his sneakers to his feet before his departure.

"I'd rather wait for the nurse to bring it, L." Light called after the glutton leaving the room.

Somehow he had a feeling that of all the items on his meal tray, the dessert item will be missing.

0 0 0

Mello and Matt exit the cab like a couple of cripples fresh from the chiropractor heads tilted back towards the sky, mouths agape like they're in pain when they're really in awe of the oversized manor standing before them, in a glory of four stories high and two wings wide. It's shaped like a giant L with an impressive guest house, or perhaps servant's quarters, attached to the brown brick main building like it's a big gray period.

The yard is massive! Enclosed by rout iron attached to brick; there's a garden that doesn't seem to fit the exterior that almost holds a haunting quality about it; you'd almost expect Hellhounds to be sniffing around for where they buried bodies. A place like this, that reeks of peonies, could be beautiful in the day and cryptic by night. Even the defenseless hedges with the little white flowers engulfing the house's waistline seem menacing. Guess that's life with Kira living under the same roof.

Shaking his head, Matt mutters after a low whistle. "If I'm not staying, I'm stealing." He looks down beside him to grab the bags the driver removed from the trunk for them.

He must have completely missed the grim atmosphere, taken completely by the over-sized wonder of it all.

Righting his head, Mello slaps Matt on the gut with the back of his hand. "Come on."

The pair arrived at the front door after several minutes of walk up the long driveway. Matt knocked on the door; Mello instantly went for the handlebar knob. They eye each other curious of what the other was thinking. Looks like Matt got the point on that one because the door was locked.

"Is there a bell?" Matt asks. Reaching past Mello, he presses the golden dash.

It almost sounded like a gong had gone off if the chime were on repeat. It was more like the ringing of a grandfather clock marking the hour.

"That's a bit much." Mello comments.

The two perk up when one of the front doors opens. A tallish elderly man stands before them. He almost seems like someone out of the 1800s with the coat-tails he's sporting and white gloves. He smiled at them and gave a low bow.

"Salutations. Je suis Bertrand Duvernay."

Nodding, Mello puts on a pleasant enough smile. "Je suis Mello, et voici Matt." He cocks his head in Matt's direction.

"Oui, bien sûr. Nous vous attendions." Stepping aside, he sweeps his arm into the home. "Je vous prie d'entrer."

"Merci." Mello walks in, with Matt shadowing.

Reaching for their major luggage, he says when lifting them. "Permettez-moi de prendre vos sacs."

Mello and Matt follow after the man, down a long white foyer that's colored over in a soft cream glow from the antique wall sconces. The entire home is lined like the outside, only with wood paneling instead of greenery. Planks of the dark wood line the white walls in a lattice pattern; their 20 feet lead them to a set of stairs that break off into two directions leading to one destination.

"Are we gonna have to speak French the whole time we're here?" Matt whispers to Mello.

Mello looks at the butler, or possibly just the doorman. "Parlez-vous anglais?"

"Ah, yes. Of course." He addressed them from over his shoulder, continuing down the hall for them to follow after. "Would you like for me to take your bags to your rooms while you dine on a late lunch, or would you rather retire until dinner is served?"

"Right. Rooms. And by _rooms_, we're talking how far apart?" Mello readjusts his bags before taking the stairs. Their footsteps are muffled by a thick green runner laying in the center of the stairs.

"That would be right down the corridor." Replies Bertrand. "One past master Near's."

Not something he wanted to hear or get used to. The little brat had better want to trade; the last thing he wants is to keep passing by the door to get to Matt's room, and having those condescending eyes glancing at him.

"This room is yours, master Mello." He turns the key in the lock, then pushes the door open to stick the bags in by the entry on the inside.

Mello glances into the room and continues down the hall with Duvernay and Matt; who seemed like he would have remained at Mello's room if he hadn't come along. It would seem that even in the lap of luxury, Matt's anti-social skills remain on a decline. God help them if they had to intercom for food. Although, he's used to being behind the scenes, so he wouldn't have a problem with that.

"And this room is yours, Master Matt." He replays his actions from over at Mello's room of unlocking the door, then setting the bags down inside.

"The green button calls the servants' pantry, the yellow the servants' house next door. The red one is for the home, and you only have to press a numbered button for the room you'd like to speak. The setting is left on 'All' unless you change it."

"15?" Mello looks at the intercom number panel.

"Not including the bathrooms. The manor has a total of 27 rooms." Watching the two look about like a couple of bobbleheads, he smiles warmly. "I'll leave you to get unpacked."

Before he left, he walked over to Matt's bed, turning it down for him. In case, he wanted to take a jet-lagged nap. "Bons messieurs du soir." Bowing he walks out of the room, and straight to Mello's to turn his bed down next.

Alone. Matt spreads his arms and whirls with a look of joyous baffle upon his face. "Are you freakin' kidding me?" He chuckled. "This place is a palace!" Walking over to an area that he's most comfortable, a large cherry wood desk; he runs his hand across the smooth polished reddish finish like he was touching something private.

Removing the satchel holding his laptops from around his shoulder, he sets it on the desk then removes its contents. The two high-power laptops look completely at home on the desk. He would set up a tower computer as soon as he locates one good enough to use for the case.

"How long do you think the squirt's been here?" He asks offhandedly.

"Hn. Probably days." He couldn't care less. Near is gonna be so far from his mind during this investigation, the little twirp'll have to name the uncharted location. "You know how _punctual_ he is with one-uping me."

Merely taking in a lung full of air, he audibly releases it through his nose in response. Turning around to face the desk he'd leaned on, Matt raises his computer screens.

Figuring he wasn't going to get more from Matt than that; after all, he hates Near on his behalf, he says. "L said he'd be here in a week," He'd opened a monogram e-mail with the vocal information. "but we can go to the site ourselves whenever we want."

"You can go. I'm gonna bathe first; I seriously doubt piles of sponge-baths left me with any humanity beyond my voice."

Mello only smiled, as if to say that he wasn't planning on saying anything about it himself. "I'll see if Jeeves can get you something to eat when you're done."

"Okay." He's standing at the third door he's opened in his search for the bathroom, luckily finding it on that try.

When Matt disappeared in a brief striptease through the bathroom entrance, Mello took his leave out into the hall. Looking passed Matt's bedroom in the direction they hadn't come from; a butler moved just out of his view. He must be assigned to this floor, it looked like a different man than the one who'd shown them to their rooms.

He doesn't need anything in regards to towels et cetera, so he walks back the way they came through when arriving, to get back to the foyer. "Now where is the kitchen?" He thinks out loud while his eyes steal directions.

The wood paneling darkened just about every inch of the hall; large arched windows that open like french doors are spaced along the corridor. Sunlight beams in from outside, but only through the amount of space the width of the window's framing allows, almost like it's afraid to overstep its boundaries of the window, leaving the darkness to occupy everything in between.

Whatever boyhood he had left in him- and it ain't much- was tempted to jump up into the air, hand extended, to see if he could touch the ceiling that's 6′5" from the floor in this hall. But he strolled down the hall waiting to either come across the kitchen or have Duvernay pop up and escort him there.

"Figures you'd be in a room like this," Mello says when spotting the albino figure through an open door.

Near is sitting at a thick wooden table, in a blue padded chair that swivels; 3 puzzles dumped into a single pile, 3 judging by the three centers started before the male that is all different pictures.

Near picks a puzzle piece from the pile, slapping it into place on the right-side puzzle. "Privet, Mello." He doesn't glance up at him, knowing his usual reaction whenever he speaks to him. "YA ne znayu, chto vy pribyvali segodnya."

"Spare me." He resisted rolling his eyes when spoken to in his native tongue. Near knew they were coming today. Approaching the table, he leans his hands on to it, slumping forward a bit in a lean.

"Should we start the investigation together, or would you rather go it alone?" He didn't have to say 'again' but it hung there where it wanted to be.

"Drop the pleasantries. The _only_ reason I'm working this case with _you_ is because L asked me to."

"Hn." His finger is now absently twirling a lock of his hair while he selects another piece from the pile to slap in place of the center puzzle. "Same Mello as always." He sets another few pieces into place, keeping his gaze on his activity. "It'd be a refreshing change to simply work together, but if you'd like to make it a competition for the predecessor, I'm game."

Why does every word out of this brat's mouth make his blood boil?

A couple thumps sound behind him, and he turns to see Duvernay standing in the entry way. "I see you two have found each other. Wonderful,"

He meant to say more, but Mello cut-in at his pause. "I didn't mean to, I was looking for the kitchen."

"Right this way. I have prepared a pre-dinner snack for you."

"It's not for me, it's for Matt." Straightening, he walks to the door. "He's in the shower, so you can bring it up in an hour or so; I'll be heading out for a while."

"As you wish. The lot has vehicles for your use." He shows him the kitchen's location. "Master L has informed me to give you anything you may need."

Almost burdened in polite conversation, he says casually. "I'll let you know." Glancing at the walls, he asks. "Keys?"

"In the lot. They're all labeled for easy use."

He exits the kitchen to, obviously, be followed to the garage, or "lot" as he called it.

The two make their ways down the hall to a short descent of stairs, the door at the end is opened revealing an underground garage. The lights flicker on, creating their own hum of sound in the otherwise quiet room.

Mello had to swallow back the excitement that the bikes gave to him. He couldn't believe the selection; between beauties meant to look at- though driveable, would you? And others meant for cruising the streets, and just making society sick with envy. Sportbikes for getting around. And the one that could have dropped him into bed for a month... a sleek black, silver trimmed, Ferrari motorcycle. Shaped like a thick handled dumbbell, cylinder wheels, and an engine that could annihilate avalanche territory without disturbing a flake from the powder; Mello felt himself wettening.

"Keys?" He asked, glad he kept it together enough to do so.

Duvernay showed him to the wall. A corkboard hangs there, with hooks holding each key; a label-maker label is stuck to the board just above the key telling which mode of transportation it belongs to.

"I shouldn't be too long." He informs the man.

Mounting the motorcycle, he grabs the helmet from the handle slipping it over his head. Lowering the visor to give him a sort of alien appearance with his scrawny body and over-sized head with the helmet on it, he gave the man a nod before making the engine purr his departure.

0 0 0

London. Though he was sent here after his narrow escape from death by a killer notebook, he didn't exactly spend his days and nights hopscotching through the strip like a teenager. He watched the news, he asked for reports, he climbed the walls, wrecked the hotel room, bit the damned bellboy! _Anything_ to keep his ass in London, when he should have gone back to Japan to finish catching Kira.

Not exactly being dead seemed to be working for L, so what was wrong with some help?

The smooth ride to the rowhouses was a blur, and he doesn't need the address written down in order to spot the home that's become a crime scene. There's police tape stretched across the entrance just inviting vandals in, along with squatters to the vacancy. Society. Always ready to contaminate the scene of the crime. The reason for taking another sweep of the place is because it isn't enough to look at the police information; with them, there's always the chance of something being missed. Training 101: Eyes see different things, so don't rely on someone else's.

Walking up the stairs; the side of his mouth twitched in annoyance spotting the removed tape on the lower part of the door. Removing his Colt 1911-22 22LR handgun, a deep silver piece- because it's perfect for concealment, over his favored desert eagles that are black and gold- he stopped himself; this is exactly why he was left in London. He's rash. Even if he'd been in on the perfect plan of action, he'd of formulated his own and acted on it.

Stuffing the piece of metal back in its resting place beneath his back waistband, Mello decides vocal abuse will be enough to remove the intruder. Walking through the door, the broken tape made it easy for him to just slip beneath it rather than removing it all himself. He steps into the home, looking around the darkened room.

Grunting from a strike on the butt, he staggers forward a couple steps then turned around to smash in the face of the little shit who'd attacked him, only to find himself face to face with the barrel of his gun. His vision focuses just passed the hole, coming in contact with the eyes of one of Near's men; who continues to aim at him. A blond man, he can't address by name.

Letting the gun fall limp on his finger like it was a child's toy, the man showed he meant no harm by holding his hands up in peace. "You should watch where you keep your gun... If I were anyone else, I could have killed you."

_'So much for working together, he's already got his team out here.'_ Snatching his gun back, he returns it to where he will always keep it though he'll be a little more cautious when passing entry ways.

"We won't get in your way if you don't get in ours."

Mello didn't respond, his focus has already moved on to the crime scene.

The police have removed the bodies, and the outline tape has taken its place. Its. No longer a person. Just a body. A simple left behind shell. He'll go over the documented photos with Matt once they get back, but for now, he'll take his own.

The smell in the home is rank enough to burn the hairs from your nostrils: old blood, bowel movements, rotten innards. It never usually smells like this. How long were these people dead before the witness found them? If he were a lesser person, he would have thrown up, but he held it in from even gagging.

The 3 men work quietly around the room, swiftly and expertly. There was another one of Near's who'd joined them from upstairs. Near's men left before Mello, having arrived earlier.

_'I'd like to get a look at those photos,'_ He thinks. _'There's so much blood in one area, and almost a purposefully drizzled amount in the other.'_Kneeling, he looks from the bloody chairs arm then down along the dark pink carpet. _'The blood is so purposeful down the arm, but there's minimal spray on the carpet. A slit wrist would definitely have caused a broader spray... Something was either in its path from hitting the carpet or it got all over the person who did it. The only person in the room was the guy who claims he woke up in the massacre. Hmm?'_ He looks at the deep black puddle on the carpet where the other victims resided. _'Is it possible to wake up at the scene of the crime and have _not_ done it?′_

It seemed damned unlikely. He'll be around to questioning the victim slash witness later with Matt; the red head would also be around to go over this scene himself. Most people in their field of work would spot Matt in the room, his head down and playing a handheld game of some sort, and think he's just some hacker-gamer. Not very impressive in their eyes, considering 70% of an investigation is background checking, timeline creating, victim comparing, and delivering this information to the field team, so, no... it's more along the lines of 87%.

But they're all a bunch of big-headed, overly-self worth inflated dicks who think the arrest is the end-all be-all. The end of it is the true goal, but getting them there is the level of worth. And Matt is worth 100 arrests plus on his own. He's also trained in the field of forensics because of his specialty. In other words, a Jack-of-All-Trades. Perfect for a man in the shadows. He's almost positive that if he didn't just wave away being L's successor, Matt would have taken it from a field guy like Mello, and an analyst like Near a long time ago.

Although, now that they're working legitly, there's no need for him to hack the London police department. They're willingly given the files; not like with Kira when the SPK had taken over. But Near's team was not the problem, it was the bumbling KTF (Kira Task Force) that made catching a solitary man and his goons almost next to never.

Their ignorance for the truth just got a lot of people hurt or killed, all for the kept vanity of a genius pretty-boy with the usual God-complex brought on overseeing, all too vividly, what's wrong with the world. Where it's true the wrong in the world enough to drive anyone mad with this bit of lunacy that drives people to murder, and the next to no reason at all killers... Ugh! He even could have applauded the reasoning for Kira's actions- if it were possible to work. But where there's power, there's ego. And where there's ego, there's pettiness. _That_ sort of perfect world... It could never have worked.

He smiled a tiny little smirk over the pretty-boy comment. Light's good-looking, there's no denying it. But he wondered how he'd fair with a scar like his? Ha. Even the one on his chest would be too much for Kira to handle, even as private knowledge. It makes no difference to Mello, though. He wasn't about to go crying to a hospital and be caught by those idiots working against the right people. There's no time to feel pain when shits hittin' the fan, before or after. He's just lucky Matt was standing by to put him out before the flames could swallow him worse.

Doesn't mean he isn't pissed it had to happen. He winks his right eye, musing bitterly over the blur there. The immense heat almost took his vision completely. His ear wasn't as lucky since the thin cartilage burnt up almost completely. He can still hear, so why complain?

_'There were no deaths upstairs according to the police report, but I'll take some shots just to be sure.'_

Walking up the stairs, he checks through every room documenting each corner, and whole, through photographs. After leaving the home he restores the police tape to where it had been over the door, then heads back to the manor.

x x x

**Commentary:** I'm gonna do the best I can! Ever since I was little I had an obsession with mysteries, so I can only hope to showcase something good through that, because its not my first time doing a to-the-plot Death Note, because I do all that other junk with them AU and Nursery Crimes I'm gonna give up on because sometimes it never works out, so for this I'll do what I can.

Anything you do to this story: review, favorite, alert or just read is very appreciated and thank you. If you'd like to bash me, then I hope something constructive comes out of it, and not just "this stinks" doesn't tell me much as to why, so how can I improve? *extreme close-up of intense eyes full of wonder* ahaha.

I almost forgot, I'm trying something new with my usual way of working, I always update a week after the last chapter, but this time I'm gonna take it as it comes to me.


	2. MO

Matt's lips roll the cigarette to the other side of his mouth as he washes that side of his neck. Coughing, he swore quietly at the wall beside him due to the ache in his chest._ 'Fucking bullet wounds.' _He thinks to himself. Of course, it wouldn't have killed him to not smoke while bathing.

Matt watched the smoke from his mouth bond with the steam from the hot shower water. It felt damned good to get clean! His dirt was a ripe greyish color before it turned brown. He knew those nurses at the hospital didn't have a clue about hygiene. A little sponge and a tub of hot water... Ha! Not to mention the unintrusively quick swishing of the sponge going over his bedridden body.

"Shit." He groaned.

Having turned his head too quickly to rinse his neck from the soap, the spray of water ran right over the tip of the cigarette putting the little white stick out fast. A sigh of discontent and he plucks the thing from his mouth setting it down on the silver soap dish that's indented into the tiled black-marble-tile. It's for the best, smoking was distracting him from the shower anyway.

The hacker's hand paused in its reach for the shampoo; he thought he saw a shadow through the open door in the main part of the room. He eased his question with the answer that Mello had said he'd tell someone to get him food, it was probably the butler. He's not used to living in a place that has servants. Sure, he's stayed in hotels more than his own apartment; but housekeeping doesn't let their self in your room and discretely clean it. They make a show of showing up, then practically order you out so they can do their work.

He soaped up his hair with some very fragrant shampoo; lavishing in the clean feeling his hands are bringing. His hair is thankfully cleaner than his body, so he made quick work of it washing and rinsing. He hated to get out, really, but he knew he couldn't spend the day in the shower. Especially when he's got food waiting for him.

Leaning over through the stream of liquid he pops the knob back in to turn off the water. He didn't know old almost castle mansions like this had showers in them. But then again, the shower could be new. England has very old homes mixed in with the new, so the shower could have been added in some time after L began living in the place.

Exiting the tub, Matt then retrieves the towel from the bar seven feet away from the bath and wraps it around his waste. He can't believe how thick it is- he could get lost in the threading! He either needs to put some weight back on before he reaches idol status, or learn the secret to becoming this rich because the luxury is nice.

Lifting the lid from a covered tray, he couldn't help but grin upon seeing 2 large rosemary-encrusted roast pork sandwiches topped with sweet peppers, sided by a big bowl of kettle cooked potato chips; he'd of preferred a soda of some kind but figured the two protein shakes- and he can smell the difference between a normal chocolate milkshake and one laced with supplement easily- would suit him all right.

_'I wonder where the squirt..'_ He's cut off by the mentioned "squirt" going by. "Near! Hey," He waves.

Near froze, a hard side glance cast Matt's way before he turned to address him properly. "You look well."

"Somewhat feel it too." Replied the hacker. "What are you doing so far? Maybe I can help until Mello gets back."

"I've got Gevanni compiling files for me."

"Mm." Removing his towel, shamelessly, he gives himself a once over to dry off before he dresses. "We could still hang out. I can eat and still do junk."

He thought over the proposition. "Do you know how to play King's in the Corner?"

"Yeah." He takes a bite of a sandwich. "Bring it in here."

Near seemed hesitant but went off to his room to snag a deck of cards bringing them back into Matt's room. Stepping into the room, he looks around the expansion spotting Matt taking a seat at a table set meant for two.

Swallowing his bite, he licks the juice from the corner of his mouth before commenting. "Mello wants to switch rooms with you."

"So let him," Near says with little care. Setting up the game with four singular cards around the deck sitting in the center of the table, he deals them seven cards then nods to Matt that he can start.

They play the game in silence; Matt's crunching and chewing the only real sounds in the room being purposefully made. After ten minutes and some change, Matt shakes his head in defeat.

"Looks like you win." Looking over his cart of nourishment, he finds the cupboard bare. "Best two of three?"

"Sounds like odds." Near looks up from the deck he's shuffling. "What's the bet?"

"Loser has to greet Kira when he and L show up... with a smile." He puts on a cocky grin knowing that he'd only been playing to play, and hadn't yet gotten serious. As serious as one can get in a game so easy anyway.

Near fixed Matt with a hard glare, then a smirk came across his mouth. "Alright, Matt." He curls a lock of hair around his index finger. "You've got a deal."

0 0 0

Light's in the middle of physical therapy, under L's scrutiny. He wondered as he paces the barred-in path if this is what it's going to be like living with L. Under constant surveillance. Creepy thought. His steps pause...

_'Why does it feel so familiar? Being watched by L...'_ He blinks a slideshow of fuzzy reels, all of them images he can't seem to recall being real or not. They didn't feel real, but neither did they feel false. _'What am I thinking... Anyone being stared at is gonna feel watched beyond what's really being done. He's just being sure every thing's all right.'_ He looks at L, who offered him one of his strange smiles in return.

"You're a very fast healer, Light. It's incredible!" The nurse prides over him. "I'd better not brag, all the other patients may become jealous."

"All the other patients don't have the same will as Light." Responds L.

"Ohhh, I think that's unfair to say, Mr. Hideki." She shakes her head. "Everyone has to recover in their own time, their own way."

Light made a sound that could be considered a sort of laugh. "Don't say that to Ryuzaki, his rebuttal would be somewhere along the lines of 'if the healing method is the same for every patient, then wouldn't it stand that the result of time to heal be equal as well'. In which case, he'd be right."

"Thank you, Light. Astute as always."

Light ignored the comment. Knowing L's inner workings would really be of no gain to him. Although he's sure he has no need or reason to one-up the detective.

The nurse, however, only shrugged a hand. "A person's body does what it does."

Light's stomach chose that time to growl in a show of its hunger.

"Looks like somebody needs to eat." Helping Light's slow movement over to the wheelchair, she removes the stirrups for his feet once he sits down in it, then replaces them so he can put his feet up. "I'll take you back to your room and send a nurse with your meal."

It was like being four again, being told every move you're to make as an entirety before you're let loose to do it, with little self-time in between to be an unchoreographed child. He can't wait to get out of the hospital, he's not a fan of going back in time. If he can move, let the movement be forward.

The nurse allowed Light into L's care once they reached the room; she assumed he'd help the young man into his bed for her. But L did nothing of the sort, resuming his place on the seat by the bed; laptop turned on in his finish.

He wouldn't say so, but Light was glad to be left alone to get back into bed. He's walking better, and his movements are almost as fluid as they used to be. But by the end of the week, when he and L go to England, he plans to be back to his full merit. It's one thing to work in Japan, but going overseas is L's territory and he's not sure how the other agents will work with him, considering the track record he has with Near. Mello he's never formally met. But he's entirely sure that if he's slo-mo in comparison to their pace, he'll be left behind and left out. Not that he can't work alone. Speaking of which.

"How's the investigation going?" He asks once situated.

"Nothing from either side yet." Looking at Light, he turns the laptop so the monitor is facing him. "Would you like to look it over? What the police have given me." He lifts the PC to hand over to the patient. "Helping with the investigation, you should be on the same page as everyone else."

Light clicked open the folder marked Case Files, one after the other, he's reading over the reports typed out and looking over the photos of the crime scene. "Have the cops talked to the neighbors yet?"

L shook his head. "It would have been in the report." Removing the laptop and setting it back onto the bedside table, he comments. "I'll see that Mello and Near's information gets to you."

"Thank you."

"So, Light..." He attempts small talk in the brief silence that passed. "Do you have any plans once we get to London?"

"Working the case seems like a pretty good one."

L's large eyes run over Light's form. "I meant if you _couldn't _work the field, quite as quickly."

"Hn. You make it sound as if I should get a job and find an apartment as a filler." He locks eyes with the detective.

"Nothing of the sort," L taps his fingers on his knees. "I only meant, you shouldn't push yourself."

"...I won't."

They spot the nurse, ending the conversation there.

"I hope you're in the mood for tea," The nurse smiles kindly.

Sliding the cart over to the bed, she lifts the little table from beside the bed then sets the tray of food down on top of it. Light picks up his chopsticks, going into his lunch as they usually do starting with the folded egg, then a bite of rice.

The nurse seemed pleased with his appetite and took her leave shortly after the first bite.

"I should get something to eat." He said in a tone that seemed almost offended that he wasn't offered anything. "I'll be back shortly." He wanders out of the room.

_'London. What am I gonna do in London?'_ He wonders over his meal. _'Near and Mello have their teams already... L doesn't seem interested in the case beyond giving it a once over, and issuing detectives to it.'_ He pulls the lid from his blueberry yogurt. _'Guess I'll have to get a team together for myself.'_

And he knew just the candidate.

0 0 0

Their game of cards turned into a duel of games, because before one could gloat over the ruin they'd just given to the other they begin another game but of Cribbage instead; figuring they'd go with an English game being in London and all.

Cribbage uses a standard 52-deck of cards. The jokers are removed; the suits are equal in status. The players cut for first deal, with the player cutting the lowest card- the ace counts as one and is the lowest card- dealing first. If the cutters tie, the cards are re-shuffled and re-cut. The dealer shuffles offer the deck to the player on his right to cut -required in tournament play, and deals cards singly to each player, starting with the player on his left. During the deal, if any card is exposed by the dealer or found face-up in the deck, cards must be redealt.

Cards must be dealt so that each player should end up with four cards after the crib is formed, and the crib should also have four cards. For two players, each is dealt six cards- though some play with five cards that are dealt to each player and two to the crib. For three or four players, each is dealt five cards. In the case of three players, a single card is dealt face down in front of the dealer to start the crib.

"I've always wanted to ask you," Matt begins out of the blue. "are you getting any?"

Not missing a beat, Near says calmly. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

Matt shrugged his shoulder. "I'm just making small talk." Removing a cigarette from the pack, he lights up. "How old are you? Almost eighteen?"

Near kept to himself on the matter. Its really no ones business whether or not he's having sex. Even through uncaring "small talk" over a game of cards.

"I wish Mello could hang out like this." Matt goes on, deciding it's better to chatter than to sit quietly in an activity.

It'd be the opposite with a stranger and Matt, they'd be talking through his awkward silence. He doesn't really know Near as well as he knows Mello, but he at least knows Near, and for him, that's good enough.

"Nothing's stopping him." Replied the detective.

"True, but..." he makes a move, tagging his board for the score, "you don't know what it's like deciding you have a rival." He wheezed a chuckle at his comment.

"You've got a point there."

"Don't tell him I said that." He shakes his head chuckling.

Mello chose that time to enter the room. Eyes sharpened to glare, he eyeballs Near while approaching the table; the two remain unaware of whether he'd heard them or not. "Isn't this cozy. I'm out on the field and you're sitting here playing games."

"I was only waiting for you to get back so we can go." Matt stands.

Looking at Near, he snips. "Your team left before me, shouldn't you be working?"

Cleaning up his game: stacking the scoreboards, replacing the pegs into their bag, and the cards in the box, Near replies smoothly. "My men are compiling files for me to look over. If I can't rely on them for that much they're in the wrong line of business."

"Whatever."

"If you'll excuse me, I have to replace my things in the next room." He said for Mello's sake to spare him of asking- or in Mello's case- demanding- after a topic already discussed and decidedly over.

Waiting for Near to leave, Matt then held up his hands in defense that he's innocent until proven guilty. Mello waved it off and shoved the camera into Matt's hand. "Upload these then let's go."

"Where?" He walks the camera over to his computer, grabbing the USB cord he sticks it into the camera and laptop then sends the file over into a folder marked for the case.

"We're gonna interview witnesses, namely the guy who woke up at the crime scene."

Removing the cord, he closes the lid on the laptop putting it into sleep mode so he doesn't have to boot-up again once they return. The camera is tucked into the drawer of the writing desk.

Matt comments on the activity, following Mello out of the room. "It is fishy to wake up in a house full of bodies, none of which you're related to, and not have done it."

"We can ask the neighbors once we're done." He felt a pang of hunger after walking into the room and smelling whatever Matt had eaten a while ago, but lunch would have to wait for the time being.

"I'll drive." Matt clomps down the stairs almost two at a time. "I just hope L's got something other than a showy town car, or limo. I've never driven a limo, and I'm not about to start being seen as a chau...fer. Wow." Wide eyed he looks over three cars that had him reconsidering all the ideas he had in his head of what L is like as a person.

Mello could only smirk over how he'd felt the same way when seeing the bikes. And he felt kind of ticked that he couldn't ride it again. It didn't matter how he got there, though he would have preferred the bike, being a passenger is just as good.

Climbing into the driver's seat of the muscle car, Matt mumbles something Mello can't understand before he climbs in after him. He chuckles when an ungloved hand smooths over the dashboard with care.

"You need to pay me better." He teases Mello while sliding his glove back on.

"Do something worthy of being paid for." He joked right back.

He missed this. He missed it while Matt slept through medication induced comas, he missed it while believing Matt was dead when he'd really been hospitalized, more so when he'd been sent to London and was ordered to stay away. Mello and his right hand.

"Try to not drive in physical homage to Grand Theft Auto, we don't wanna get a lawsuit from hitting Super Nanny." He puts a boot up on the dash while leaning back in his seat, waiting to be carted to 1304 Sheridan Lane.

...

The silver muscle pulled into a space half a block from the witnesses home; they circled the block a couple times for a spot that's closer but it would seem no one had anywhere to go, leaving no free spaces for them to filtch. The walk up was through brisk and unseasonably cool weather conditions for May. Spring usually has a nice breeze, but it's always warm and relaxing. These phenomena must be a London thing. Sort of like the sky that looks one cloud short of rain.

Resisting the urge to rub his bare arms free from the chill, Mello lifts the knocker on the red door giving it a few hefty beatings against the door-plate. He really shouldn't have worn a tee shirt; he's been in London longer than anyone and should have known better.

"Is he even home?" Matt wonders.

With the way the rowhouses are built, he can't peek through a downstairs window without leaning heavily over the iron railing. And with that came the risk of falling over onto a set of stairs that lead down into the backdoor of the home.

Their ears perk when a rattle pierces the silence in the neighborhood. It definitely came from inside the home. Mello points to the back stairs and going down that way he also signals for Matt to stay put in case the guy tries to flee.

Creeping softly down the stairs then along a short passage to the door, he spots the homeowner through the window. He looked spooked at the shadow on the wall and floored it through the kitchen into the living room.

"Matt, he's running!" Mello called up to the red head.

Bracing himself, he wasn't fully braced for the front door springing open and a shower of pepper spray sailing his way. Matt yelped in surprise then began spitting and coughing from ingesting some of the contents in the can of creep-be-gone. He felt a slight brush against his hip before hearing the sound of a bullet cocking into the barrel.

"Back off!" The man shrieked in panic, not bothering to match a can of spray against a bullet. "I don't want any more trouble from you!" He went to slam the door but Mello thrust his way in. "N..n...no... No. No." He huddled down beside his couch, arms covering his head. "Please, leave me alone!"

"We're not here to hurt you." Mello snipped over the man's quivering.

"Speak for yourself." Groaned Matt wiping a hand across his mouth, stepping into the home behind Mello.

"Y...you mean you're not the man who hit me over the head, and" He swallowed his nerves to turn around and face the intruders. "threw me in that blood bath?"

Several apologies to Matt, and two steaming cups of earl gray tea later, has them all in the kitchen discussing the situation.

Ellis Quimby, age 38: a journalist for the local newspaper _Daily Mirror_, who one day would like to make it big with the story of the century. Something that'll really put him on the map, but after his ordeal, he'd like nothing more than to close himself up in a hole and never be seen again- hence the pepper spray. The poor S.O.B was just lucky he's wearing goggles, and the spray missed going into his eyes.

"You don't even know 'ow frightened I've been since four days ago."

His West Country Bristol accent is very present now that the fear has been removed from it. It's hard to tell when someone is sniveling, so every word has a sort of round sound about it.

"I was at work, y'know... Just about to climb into my car when I felt a crack over the head." His swallow was audible; his fingers drum nervously on the tiny white tea cup. "Then to wake to the sight I saw." He closed his eyes but they snapped open in the next instant like the sight was still in there... leering at him, touching his trying to calm nerves with despair.

"When would you say you woke up at the crime scene?" Mello asks. "Was it the next day, the same day? You must have asked while you were at the hospital."

"Hell if I know."

Mello's eye scrunched in agitation, but he schooled it back. The hardest part of the job- for him- is speaking to people without demand for answers. Mafia lifestyle tends to hinder your tolerance for a tight lip- unless that buttoned-mouth is on your side.

"Try to think back on it... please."

The journalist seemed to be reconsidering a smart-assed remark when studying the burn on Mello's face. The former mafia boss chose that time to casually rest his chin on folded hands, revealing a bit of burnt skin on his wrist from where his glove nearly became a permanent accessory for him.

"The nurse told me I took quite a hit, that I'd been out for half a day at the hospital... only that was after I'd collapsed on the street. I think maybe they said the bump was a day old."

Knowing they could check with the hospital, he asks. "Why would anyone put you at the crime scene?"

Ellis scoffs. "You honestly think I have the faintest idea what goes through a psychopath's head?" His jittering hands move the cup up to his lips where he takes a quick sip of the hot liquid.

"You tell us," Mello shrugs. "You might actually know this person. And you never know what people are capable of when they hate you strongly enough. They can kill you, frame you for a murder they've committed, ruin your name if they think you've got too much fame."

Ellis continues shaking his head. "I can't think of anyone."

"You said you work at the local newspaper?" Mello nods off in a random direction as if the man's place of business is right out the door. "Maybe you did an article on someone that pissed 'em off?"

"Oh yeah, I can just see that... Being bopped over the head for writing out the latest celebrity gossip, or the weather columns. Any short bit of news I drone out never affects anybody, so then why choose me?"

"If you honestly didn't do it, we'll find out soon enough why anyone would choose you to have done it too. If this person has it out for you, they'll likely show up around your home." Replied the blond into his cup nonchalantly, before taking a sip. It's nice. Strong.

"Oh don't be telling me something like that, makes it sound like it'll happen again."

"Since you keep your door locked, it might not."

"Might." He rolls his cornflower blue eyes around in a semi-circle. "Its that might what keeps me awake at night worrying."

He continues muttering of not being able to sleep since that day; and how he'd had to stumble upon a freaky looking ghost with thick black hair. He was obviously referring to L.

"The damn cops tell me I'm a witness and a bloody suspect, so I can't leave anyplace to feel safe. It's Hell here!"

A stray sound from outside had him shrink in on himself.

"We're gonna catch the guy who killed that family, and he's undoubtedly the same person who put you there." He left out the implicating words of "_if_ he'd been put there" as opposed to being the one who'd done it. "So you don't have to worry."

"See that I don't. I have to get back to work once my nerves get better. My boss is already pressing on me to get over it and come on back. I'm bloody scared to leave my house and he wants me to work." He downs the rest of his tea then pours more into his cup, 3 lumps of sugar follow with a hesitant fourth lump. "Unless you've got more questions about my lack of knowledge, you gentlemen should find the door."

Getting up from the stool, he wags his index finger. "One last thing, did you know the family in the home you woke up in?"

"No."

And as abruptly as they'd arrived, they were shown out.

"Think he's lying?" Matt finally finds his voice.

"Didn't seem like it, did you see the way he kept looking past us and out the windows. He must have thought whoever's done it followed us and is waiting around." Mello looks about the street in wondering the same thing.

It's possible. Not that they were followed, but that if Ellis Quimby were some sort of target for his occupational choice, he'll likely continue to be harassed until whoever killed that family gets what they want. He's read files with similar incidents in them; killers paying homage to an author of a book about dark and disgusting things that piqued their interest. They want to be in a book of true stories about the world's sickos and they wanna be the front runner.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees the curtain get tugged snuggly closed. That guy's nerves are fried.

"Let's question the neighbors, we can get back to L's by four."

Matt hopped off the last stone step, stuffing his hands into the pockets on his vest as he follows Mello back to the car. "There are a couple places someone can hide out and watch Quimby's house if they wanted to."

"He may not even have to hide, he could live across the street or next to him." Waiting for the lock to pop, he goes on. "Whoever it is must have done their research, Londoners read the news more than they watch it, but that doesn't mean you'd know who was who leaving the building. He could have been the mailman or janitor."

"Quimby could have staged it. Y'know," He slides into the seat. "he said he wanted to make it big. He could have asked some friend sick enough, that he figured wouldn't get caught, to off those people... and he just hung out in the house waiting for the right chance to leave."

"Hmm..." He checks the files out on the laptop he brought along. "Hospital report shows he had a pretty nasty concussion. Whoever hit him really meant to knock him out for a while."

"We know how far we take what we're into, Quimby could be the same." He shrugs. "Might not mind a bump to the head to get what he wants."

"...You make a good point."

"I'll background check his friends once we get back." The car is pulled out into the street. "Someone might have a record, or at least come off shifty enough to be a blip on the radar."

Back at the manor.

Near found a comfortable place on the carpet to lay down and begin a good game of motocross with these two, pull-back to crank, racers, in the colors of white and green for one and blue and white for the other. The little racers are fixed to the bikes, so beyond racing, they have no real purpose outside of being deliverymen should he use them when amusing himself with other toys.

Gevanni turned in his seat when the racers popped into the wall. "I've done all the interviews of the neighbors in the area, would you like to look over them or shall I read them out loud?"

Near held out a hand accepting the papers with the written interviews; reading over the reports, he continues to retrieve his racers from wherever they travel; pulling them along the way to let them go to have them race again.

"Anderson Baker, he has an alibi for his whereabouts?" His racing comes to a pause as he continues reading. "Mr. Quimby is a solitary man, so no one but work could report his missing when he doesn't go in. But they might not know when he'd gone missing after he'd left work that evening, just that he didn't come in the next day."

"I did check up on Baker." Gevanni knows what his boss was going to ask. He's wondering if the only neighbor not home at the time could be the unsub in the matter. "The evening of Quimby's disappearance he was in Norfolk visiting with his ex-wife to see his daughter and sons. I gave her a call and she confirmed it."

"Does Quimby know how long he'd been unconscious?" He reads through the man's file. "Hospital reports show he had a concussion."

"I'm not sure." He turns to the computer to root through the files. "I have his number, I can call to ask."

"Do that. I'll wait. In the meantime," He walks to the door. "I'll get Rester to speak with the other staff at the newspaper."

"Yes, sir..." He hesitates then clears his throat to get Near's attention. "Near?"

"You should already know the answer to that." He swiftly exits the room.

Throwing his hand outward, he says to airspace. "So I know the answer to that." Turning in the chair, he thinks _'Hn.'_ with a shake of his head. _'I have been cooped up too long that I'm finding a sixteen year old attractive... and a male at that!'_

Recovering from his distraction, he removes his cell phone tapping the number out to call the victim for another interview.

0 0 0

"Yeah, I know the family what lives next door, Gloria Talbott and her twins Alexa and Jim." The skinny woman leaned over far enough to make her double-strand of pearls jangle noisily against each other. "Bit of a gossip, she is-" She gasped. "listen at me "is" she _was_ a gossip, wasn't she?" Shaking her head, she goes on. "Poor Jim senior, out of town at the time... He says it's business but I know he steps out on her."

Matt bit his tongue about the neighborhood gossip. This woman is sounding pretty gossipy herself.

"So you didn't hear anything going on next door?" Mello asks. "No one suspicious came by Mrs. Talbott's house that you noticed?"

"Not that I know of, no."

"Can you hear the doorbell in her house when it rings?"

"Yes, I can hear the knocks too." Again she leans in like her words are a secret, but if the walls are that thin they may as well have to be, sometimes. "I often hear the twins swearing up a storm when their mum leaves, it's like their own little game to test their freedom." She laughed at the youthful antics.

_'So if she can hear all that, the unsub must have been expected and didn't have to ring or knock.'_ Mello muses. "Matt, can you go next door and say something- anything- just to see if we can hear you."

Matt nods then walked from the house to go next door. The thin woman cocked a confused brow before asking.

"What's he doing that for?"

"I'm going to see how loud he'd have to be for us to hear what goes on next door."

A knock pierced the wall.

Shouting instruction, he says. "Okay! Count or something!"

Matt looked about the empty home, feeling a chill run down his spine. He supposed if someone hadn't been killed in here the place wouldn't be so bad, a little tacky in the interior but nothing a good carpet replacement or furniture removal couldn't cure. Still...

He's a man of the screen, he's not usually on the crime scene outside of being the getaway car, or bullet backup. Taking it in, he wanders back a bit into the home close by the armchair the woman was found in. If the victim was talking with the unsub they certainly wouldn't be standing by the wall being as loud as they could be.

"One..." He said in his usual tone. "Two..." He said just a bit louder. "Three..." He raised his voice a notch more.

Matt continued all the way to ten, stopping when Mello knocked on the wall. Then he begins to talk casually.

"I'm planning on getting a few new games this weekend. I wonder if our boss will play them with me."

Mello threw an apologetic smile to the woman for his companions choice of babble. She only smiled back, finding it amusing; laughing out loud when he ended his rant with "I could use a cigarette."

"He's rather chatty when he's in private, isn't he?"

"He doesn't know how to talk to people." Looking over his shoulder, he calls out. "Okay, come back!"

Mello speaks upon Matt's reentry of the home. "We heard you at seven, but had to strain a bit to hear you up until you started going on about wanting burgers for dinner."

"I was standing back by the armchair."

Brows raised, the woman says. "How can he be shy with a voice that handsome? Grow some bullocks."

Mello shakes his head indicating for Matt to ignore her. "Think back to that night... Did you hear her speaking to anyone lowly or with a raised voice?"

The gossipy woman blinked as she thought about it. Slowly, she begins shaking her head. "It was long ago, I can't really remember. I've got my own children, and was probably cleaning for the night."

Mello wondered if a cognitive interview would be of any use. The crime was four days ago, and those types of interviews work best when the situation has just happened hours earlier. _'Its worth a shot.'_ Scooting forward in his seat, he says in a calming voice. "Ma'am, I'm going to try to help you recall what happened that night; I just need you to see if it works."

"What do you mean?"

"Close your eyes for me."

She looked hesitant but does as he says. "Okay, now what?"

"I want you to think about your usual night routine, you said you have one... what does it consist of?"

"I make dinner, wash the plates, then fold the laundry for the next day."

"Four days ago, you did the exact same thing but... something was different about that night. What was it?"

The auditory witness can see herself walking about the kitchen doing her chores. Was there something different about that night? Yes, that's it! "I heard Gloria, she wasn't talking.. it sounded more like she'd tripped over the coffee table or something. There was just a loud thump, but it was enough to make me go into the living room to fold the laundry." She blushed. "I'd thought maybe she had a man over and they were gonna have a roll."

Matt mad a face that held a bit of understanding, in his old apartment he'd often heard his neighbors fucking, and they undoubtedly heard him and Mello a time or two before they'd headed to Japan for the Kira investigation. It's a fascination, sex, even when you're one of the people who can and do it.

"Good. Only you kept listening when you found out she wasn't having sex... Something kept your interest." Mello egged her on.

The witness was silent again, while she thought it over.

Deciding to help her out, he asks. "Maybe you heard the kids if their mother had fallen over they could have run to help her up."

"Yes! Yes, the kids! It sounded like they were giggling about something."

"Were they?"

She shakes her head. "No, it sounded like Alexa was crying... It made me think that maybe she had fallen over and Jim was giggling while he picked on her for it."

"Hmm. You begin thinking they're all fine, nothing unusual is going on... Then you pause... Why?"

She sees herself hoist up the basket, but then she stops. "Aren't they cute." She says absently like the words escaped her memory for her.

"What?"

"Aren't they cute. It's what a man said... I know it was a man because the voice was deep. He had a funny sort of accent, it sort of sounded like he'd just got done running and was out of breath."

"Do you remember going to the window, if you heard a strange man speaking... You must have wanted to get a look at the guy."

She can see herself moving to the window, peeking through the white laced curtains that cover them. A man had gone by, he had no car, at least not anywhere close by. And that was that. He didn't come back.

"What do you see?" Mello asks.

"He was tall. And he walked sort of like he had a lame leg, but.." She opens her eyes. "I didn't see his face or even his hair color. I'm sorry."

"That's fine. What you've given us is really good." He stands and heads for the door; Matt following.

She gets up to open the door for them. "Oh, but, you should know... I don't know when the other man showed up. But I do know he wasn't the one that left the house."

"That helps, thanks."

"You should also know, that when the man did leave the house it was two days sooner than the man who left it four days ago."

The pair freeze at the door.

"I remember because the tele was showing an all day marathon of that Bean fellow on the twenty-eighth of last month." Unable to read their expressions she asks. "Was that useful?"

...

Mello and Matt walk into the manor with swiftness, one dashing into the nearest bathroom and the other making for the kitchen to devour all things chocolatey; and this being L's home the search didn't take long.

Mello was through with 2 candy bars of Belgium origin when Matt returned from the bathroom; he's currently holding a bag of Oreos under his arm while he mentally tells the bottle of Hershey's syrup that's leaned over the glass of milk "a little more".

Seeing this, Matt's brow raise in astonished disgust. Shaking off the illness in his stomach and on his mental pallet, he asks in wonder. "Do you even know what normal food taste like?"

"A rainbow?" Replied the former mob boss with a mock youthful tone.

"How profound of you." He peeks into a pot boiling on the stove; the flames beneath the pot flickers when a speck of water splashed out onto the burner.

"Excuse me," The sudden female voice caused the pair to jump out of their skin. "but dinner will be served in fifteen minutes in the dining room. You may finish your snacks if you're peckish, but please take care in the houses' dining schedule." Says the cook.

Guilty of the accusation, Mello set the cookie bag down on the countertop. "We'll do that." Removing his glass, he takes it with him in his departure from the kitchen.

Matt whispered like it had to be a secret. "I'm gonna have to take lessons on living with servants. These people are creeping me out with their sneaky movement."

"I'll bet they think we're the ones being sneaky." He downs a gulp of chocolate syrup that may have some milk left in it, unless it was all maxed-out by the portion of syrup poured in.

"I should have known the family was dead before Quimby got dumped off." Matt was saying absently.

"Why?"

"He stank."

Mello recalled sitting in the man's kitchen, and all he could recall was the scent of tea in the air.

"I can't explain it, but it's sort of blood mixed with..." He searched for the right smell that matched Quimby's rank. "Week old musty clothing."

Mello wondered how he could miss something that smelled _that_ bad. But then he remembered that he drank the tea, Matt ignored it in favor of staring around the room. So while he was holding the cup in his hand, all he could smell was the earl gray.

"It doesn't help the case much, though, knowing the family was dead two days prior- unless Quimby was swiped as an after-thought by whoever killed them."

"But why?" He turns into the hall that leads to the dining room.

"That's the million-dollar question." He opens one of the two doors to allow them entrance. "I think it's for the fame like you said. We can show the pictures to the neighbors tomorrow." He paused when spotting Near seated at the table.

"Good evening." Greets the younger detective.

Because he couldn't just leave the silence there. Mello chooses to ignore Near as he takes a seat at the table four chairs away from Near, and at the same side of the table so he doesn't have to see him directly in his peripheral. Setting Matt's laptop, that they used in the car, on the tabletop, he bitterly downed his chocolate milk.

Seeing this, Matt takes a seat across from Mello and the silence ensued further; but to remove himself from the awkwardness playing out, he slides his laptop over to his side, boots it up, then goes through the files. And knowing Mello's character of giving Near no information, he keeps anything insightful to himself.

Two minutes to dinner the double doors part and Gevanni walks in with his laptop, completely oblivious to the tension just begging for a spark between the two detectives. He didn't dare to do something like give a whistle or clear his throat to announce his presence but simply slid into the seat across from Near. His gatherings must have already been taken care of because he doesn't use the computer, he set it on the table and left it at that. Agent Rester is staying at a hotel.

"Good evening." The butler came in shortly after the agent. "Tonight's dinner is roast beef, mash, and summer squash."

He and another butler, younger for sure, went about plating from heating trays then placed them down before the young men. If they noticed the tension, they didn't show it and remained in the room standing at either end of the long table the serving trays are now resting on, in case the guest needed anything more.

Mello pushed his food around while everyone else ate. He side-eyed the albino runt for a moment, and, deciding that he could give the "you're not even there" brush off too, he eats his meal.

Gevanni's oblivious behavior seemed not at an end when his phone went off and he chose to answer it while at the table. But it wasn't a call, simply a text he's answering,

"Is that Rester with the interviews?" Asks Near.

"Yes, sir, He's just saying that the file's been sent over. In case it doesn't show in the inbox."

Nodding, Near goes on with his dinner. And there were no more jarring moments during the meal from there. And they shortly retired to their rooms after a dessert of strawberry charlotte: a flavored custard cream cake made with two layers of ladyfingers between the filling and it's lined with fresh sliced strawberries.

The french butler who showed them in earlier was particularly proud of the pick of springtime fruits and assured them that the wild blueberry pie tomorrow would be exquisite. Save aside Gevanni, none of them felt particularly interested in the menu choices and were simply eager to hurry away from each other.

0 0 0

Matt leaned back in the comfortable swiveling chair with a sigh. "All his friends have clean backs, but... husbands and wives kill over passion, so that isn't really saying much. Trying to be famous or help Quimby getting fame is the only way we can lean, for now. If I could make a guess..." He taps the screen of a photo of Quimby from his Facebook page. "It'd be Alistair Christ. He seems to favor him; any photo of the guy on vacation, Alistair's there with him."

Mello huffed. "Maybe he's just a mooch?"

"Yeah." He looks about the room with a bored expression, then wondered to himself. _'I wonder if this place is sound proof? It must be, or we'd hear Near and his agent discussing the case. That or he's sleep.'_ He felt a yawn coming on at the mention of it. _'That isn't a bad idea.'_ Closing the screen, he opens another file with the victims inside. "Yeesh. And I stood around alone in that..." Standing, Matt asks while closing everything off before shutting down the computer. "Wanna go to bed, Mel?" He flops onto the large comfortable four-poster bed; kicking his boots from his feet before sliding further under the comfort.

Mello was about to object, but he changed his mind and removes his shirt and pants before slipping into bed as well. They aren't going to get any further with the case tonight, which means the same can be said about Near.

"We should be next door fumigating my new room." Rolling onto his stomach, he closes his eyes. "How'd you get him to cave?"

"I just asked him for it."

Realizing he's still dressed he scooted from the bed to remove his day clothes down to nothing but boxers and a tank undershirt. Climbing back into bed, he's on his side and wrapping an arm around Mello, placing a goodnight smooch to the back of his head before closing his eyes.

In the next bedroom, formally known as Mello's the occupants are getting ready for bed as well.

Gevanni chastised himself for not only watching Near dry his hair through the open bathroom door but for salivating over the fact that the teen is in nothing but an over-sized robe. He looks like an attractive ghost.

How did it get like this? He often wondered since they started this at the end of last year. All his life he's been exclusively into women. Bethany from high school, bagged her after a month, Dolly, Sebrina, Audrey, and Lucia from college nailed them all within the same week. Law school and training there was always a woman. So why now is he hot for a male- a teenaged male at that!? He's not only lost his mind, but he's become a hypocrite for putting men away who've done less to their young victims than he has with consent.

Even when those involved in pedophilia or statutory rape cases, who say it was consensual, he'd balked at their nerve of saying the young party involved wanted it. As if someone who's just discovering the world would agree to something they know little about. If they choose to explore their sexuality it'd be with someone their own age. And that's just the way his mind worked.

But here he is, swallowing over a lump in his throat when the teen walks through the room and over to the table where he's seated to grab the laptop to take over to the large bed with him, where he then shamelessly rest himself against the headboard; parting the fluffs of white from his body.

"What'll it be this time?" Gevanni asks just as shamelessly as Near laid out ready for whatever they'd be partaking in. He'd asked him earlier about their plans for the night. He could have gone back to the hotel.

Laptop at his side, he replies. "I'd like to try something different this time." He clicks open the interview files.

Surprised, Gevanni figured it'd be a bit of the usual kissing or a handjob from him upon Near's person; because in all three times they've fooled around, Near's only ever wanted the same two things. He could only wonder if the "something different" was going to be his boss telling him to suck it. He can't say he isn't somewhat curious since this whole thing began... he's been doing a lot of unusual things in regard to his fluctuating sexual preference.

The first time was almost like yesterday...

It was a month after the Kira case had wrapped up last year. Near was sitting in his hotel room squeezing a rubber toy that looked like his take of Kira. He'd been told... Light Yagami was alive. He didn't read any more of the message, that was enough.

Angered, he squeezed the thing so hard it left an imprint in his hand. "It shouldn't be a surprise. It shouldn't bother me." He muttered into the silence of the room.

Gevanni had never seen anything like it. He's just a 15-year-old seated in an armchair with his head down to anyone else's eyes- who'd complain? But for Near, this was a meltdown. The toy now turned into a stress ball was proof of that. Not even after Mello used the notebook to kill the greater portion of their team had he seen the male furrow a brow. He was almost "good riddance" in behavior. But this, Light Yagami being alive, seemed to pull the rug from under his feet.

And then he said very affirmatively that he needed a distraction. He asked what people normally do when they need to get their mind off of things; Gevanni told him they drink. The mini-fridge was loaded with liquor, they were the only two in the room so it wasn't like he was going to tell anyone.

"That's the last thing I want," Near commented before leaning back in the chair.

"You could eat? I'll call room service." Lifting the receiver he's about to press the button for room service.

"Put the phone down, and just get out."

Gevanni thought it over, then shook his head deciding to leave. Near clearly needed some alone time, but just as he was about to leave he got held in place by the upper arm.

"Maybe there's something a little less drastic."

"Such as?"

He felt bile rolling in the back of his throat when the detective asked that he kiss him, and placed his agent's hand against the side of his neck asking that it be done there; what was he thinking?! Why would he do something like that? Did Near not understand the age difference, and how the law frowns upon such happenings?!

"Are you insane?"

Near only smirked, asking if he was a coward. Saying that if he was willing to suggest a minor have a drink, then he should be willing to let him sate his curiosity for a distraction. But there was the problem, he wanted to do it with him. He's straight! And an adult! Near may outrank him, he may even behave like an adult through everything he does- never mind that he plays with toys- but being mature still didn't make it right.

And he told him all these things while lying the young detective on the bed to ravage his neck with his lips. Near seemed to like it because he didn't complain, but he couldn't toot a horn because the detective had nothing to go by in comparison. Gevanni's skill with the equipment is self-inflicted because he's never been with a man to know what's good outside of what he likes done to himself. Thankfully Near didn't ask for that; and being a compensating straight man, he didn't even opt to go in for it.

And that moment that could have been awkward and _should_ have been awkward... it wasn't. It was a make-out session, and he left afterward. The second encounter was before they left for L.A. Only that time Near had allowed him to kiss him on the lips; there was no "if you want to" with the male. Near told him to do it, so he did.

You would think Gevanni were a big sex toy for the teen because he'd never stray from anything he was asked to do, just like a toy can not. And it's been little else outside of kissing and, during their third encounter, a handjob. Near seems satisfied with it. And so Gevanni is too. At first. But when the third time came up, he went from a straight guy helping a guy out to actually being into it and attracted to the teen, he sought their moments together, just to be given few.

"Gevanni," Near begins; his eyes close when a swarm of warm kisses pepper his neck, as he continues. "have you ever had sex with a man?"

He didn't even entertain the idea by pretending to think about it, the answer is no. He shakes his head.

"Neither have I." He raised his chin to expose his throat to the man.

There was a "duh", but the agent kept it to himself. Then the question sank in. "Do you wanna try it?" The man asked, hopeful.

"You're eager, I thought I'd have to fight for it." Closing the laptop, he says with that odd smirk on. "Don't tell me you've been having inappropriate thoughts about me?"

Embarrassed, he shakes his head. "Wha-.. Me? No. But... are you sure?"

"Or we could call it a night?"

_'Okay, he's sure.'_ He expelled a pent-up breath._ 'I'm being manipulated by a teenager who doesn't even believe in sexuality.'_ His brow twitched in annoyance with himself for being attracted to a strange being like Near at all.

"Good. I don't need to tell you that we need condoms."

Again, his brow twitched; but he left the bed to retrieve them and a bottle of lube from his bag a few feet away. He's staying in the same hotel as Rester but had planned to stay the night to do any tech. stuff Near may need from him. And as for having condoms, the hot shot really does believe in his prowess that much, that he has protection for just in case.

He returned to the bed, hearing Near instruct him to remove his clothes and lay on his side. What was that supposed to mean? Does he think that..? Near couldn't mean? He just couldn't! Completely hesitant to give the younger male the contents in his hand; one glare from those deep grays with that soft pale hand held out toward him like it could do anything, and he knew he was sunk. He'd have to do it, well, he didn't have to do it. He could go back to the hotel.

But, he's sure regretting where this is going. He thought that if they'd gotten into full-blown sex, it'd be him, the older man, on top. But much like anything involving the detective, he's in charge, it won't change.

"Gevanni."

A name that's not even his could ring through him so heatedly, it was insane! So with great reluctance, he removes his clothing then lays on his side to take it, however, it's gonna go. This is no different than when he'd been ordered to touch the notebook at the gym locker rooms, he felt that he was going to lose his life doing this. And he's not wrong to compare the situations because he did lose his life that night. He'll undoubtedly never look at a woman again.

...

Mello didn't think he'd ever get over watching Matt when he's sleeping, more so now. No more beeping. No more ventilation machine pushing his lungs up and down for him. No more sitting up should there be a change in his condition... any small change... it could have been over. Brushing a hand through the chopped mess of a hairstyle, he smiles sadly at the bullet scar his hair is hiding on the upper left of his forehead. There are similar scars on other parts of Matt's body, some through one end and out the other, some just of the shot going in but not exiting.

_'This was no one's fault but __hers__.′_ His hand clenched into a fist.

He's got the number as memorized as the scars on his partner-in-crimes body. Sliding from the bed, he lifts his phone from the mini table and swiftly dials it. His message was decisive, it was clear: Linder when this case is over... Your life ends. And he was sure the message was received because that bitch was probably waiting for when it would come.

Setting the phone down, he looks over at Matt one last time then walks into the bathroom to shower. It may be two in the morning, but he needs to calm himself before getting back to sleep.

Matt watched the bitter blond through a peeking eye; he really can't blame Mello for feeling that way. If it were in reverse, he would feel the same. But he couldn't say it was entirely Linder's fault- not that he's letting her off the hook- but, he should have pulled the small shotgun he had holstered in his vest and fired first.

His hands were up, he only had to tuck one of them back to get it. He could feel it resting against the back of his head! The rounds inside were scattershot, he could have gotten three men at once and took cover! But he was too slow, and those agents too trigger-happy.

Slipping from the bed, when he hears the water coming from the faucet, Matt removes his clothing on the way in and steps into the shower behind the blond. Wrapping his arms around Mello's shoulders, he plants a kiss on the wet skin.

"It'll never happen again, Mihael." Professed Matt with a name only used in private, and he kissed his cheek when his lover leaned his head back to rest on his shoulder.

Leaving himself comfortable within the embrace, Mello allowed himself to believe that.

0 0 0

Ellis Quimby found his eyes blinking open from the deep sleep he'd been in. It was the longest night of his life, it seems, because he was sure he'd been in his kitchen not long ago sipping soothing tea to calm his nerves. He'd been anxiously sweating again, but could do little more than run a wet rag under his arms; he's too afraid to shower lest the perpetrator return to his home and clonk him over the head while he's naked and exposed.

Only thing was wondering when he'd gone to bed. He doesn't recall climbing the stairs, he doesn't remember getting into bed... come to think of it, he's never once risen from the bed up at the west end. His bed is on the east wall.

Sitting up, he sets his hand down beside him for a helpful push but it slips in something sticky and moist. He hoped like hell he hasn't let his fear become so massive that he's just wet the bed?

Groggy, he rolls away with a groan but takes a fall out of the bed. "Aah! Dammit... what the hell?" He mutters to himself.

Searching for the lamp on the bedside table, his hand smacks a wall instead.

"Where the devil is my lamp?" He gropes around in the darkness for it. "What is all this stuff?"

The journalist wonders at something puffy, smooth, and long resting a few feet from where his lamp and the stand should have been.

_'Forget the lamp, I'll just turn up the house lights.'_

Knowing his bedroom forwards and back, he could have sprinted to the light switch. But he realized his nightstand missing means something about his bedroom is off. Maybe someone has broken in and moved all his furniture around? But that could only mean... But it couldn't be... Not again...

"Oh... No... Oh dear god.."

He backed up from where he's currently seated; his breaths quick and sharp, almost thin to the point of not being there, and he doesn't stop backing away from whatever gruesome scene lay in the darkness until he hits a wall.

...Or it should have been a wall. But what he actually backed into, was a pair of legs.


	3. Here's a Good Question

Matt rolled over in the bed as an attempt to find a more comofortable position to game in; after he and Mello finished in the shower, then a bit of round-two in bed, he caught himself waking up from having slept for only a moment; but his busy mind wouldn't allow his being straight knocked out as Mello is.

And, upon his rolling over, Matt found himself freed of Mello's spooning which left him free to leave the bed and get some work done. While playing his game, he'd been thinking that he should give Mello a break in the morning, which meant he'd need to get a few things done first. Putting the fourth installment of Silent Hill on pause by leaving Henry in his apartment; he gets out of bed, then grabs his boxers and shirt to slip on. Once dressed he then trudged over to the desk to grab his laptop before leaving the room.

There are two libraries in the manor, and each of them have a copy/printer/fax machine. Matt walked to the east wing; with his attention back on his handheld; the light is sort of comforting in the dimly lit hall, and it's helping with keeping his nerves in-check should one of the help pop out and surprise him without meaning to. It had him wondering how long it takes a person to get used to being waited on hand and foot? Probably not very, if one wasn't the type to prefer solitude over company.

Glancing up now and then while he walked, he stopped when reaching the designated door; turning the knob, he paused before pushing it open entirely. With Matt's controlling him; Henry powers through the yard of an abandoned orphanage, and only when he's sure his character is safe from certain death, did Matt continue into the library.

Gasping from startle, that had him stepping back a hair too; Matt's mind went numb as he realized who it was that's occupying the room he'd just entered and aided in spooking him. He'd seen the likeness potrayed by Whammy's resident nutcase, but he'd never seen the man in person before. And there, sitting crouched at a writing desk, in a Victiorian wing chair, is L. _The_ L! His _boss!_ Well, his former boss, since Mello and he left the school then joined up with a mafia syndicate in Los Angeles.

_'Holy shit... What do I do?'_ He wondered in a panic. How can he not panic?! They may have been called in to live in the man's mansion to work the case, but he could just be short-handed while he's handling things with Kira. Deep down, L could be pissed that he and Mello left. They'd betrayed the school in a way. They could be scum. Cast aways. No greater than a steaming pile of shit. Not to mention the man wanted to chew him out for hacking that brat's account. Better to save the lead for breakfast.

Raising a hand to apologize for barging in; he begins backing out of the room, his left hand staggered for the knob without success. "S.. sorry. I'll use the one downstairs."

L twirled the taffy around on his tongue by spinning the stick so it moved, and he could continue whittling away at the sweet to remove the flavor from it. He offered the agent a side-long glance before popping his treat from between his lips. "It's" And he paused as though he had to take a minute in order to get it right. "Matt, correct?"

"Hmm?" He had to ask; having somewhat left the room, he almost didn't hear the man's quietly spoken words. "Oh. Yeah, I'm Matt." Not sure what was expected beyond that, he waits at the door.

"It's nice to meet you, Matt." The sweet cherry flavor wafted around the room as L spoke. "Light would greet you, if he could, but he's asleep over there." He nods his head over by a table. "Medicated. He won't be disturbing you." Removing the taffy with an audible pop; he continued speaking. "Feel free to use the house as if it were your own."

Taking that as an invitation not to walk all the way downstairs, Matt inched over to the photocopier; and, wishing he'd dressed to the teeth; Matt asked. "It won't bother you? I only have to make a dozen copies, and then I'll be out of your hair." He opens his laptop, setting it down on the desk beside the machine.

"I'm a night owl; an early bird; and an afternoon creeper." He hummed his pleasure when returning the taffy into his mouth, or maybe it was a thoughtful sound to follow up his next words. "They should have an actual saying for the afternoon." He muttered to himself.

"Don't you sleep at all?" Matt wondered out loud; and surely if the room weren't illuminated by the dull glow of a simple laptop screen, and mini desk light, he could never carry on a conversation with this stranger of a much greater standing. Kira was another story.

He looked at the ex-murderer, thinking he'd be a great poster-child for hangovers; with how his upperhalf is sprawled over the table; his head is resting on his bent arm. Matt was curious as to why Kira didn't go into one of the rooms, if he's blacked out on medication?

Looking from Matt to over his shoulder at Light, L follows his train of thought and comments. "He thought that if I was working, he'd work too; but... his will wasn't stronger than the pill."

Matt laughed uneasily at that. L may have been talking about prescribed medication, but the comment was only too true. Hooking the usb cord into his laptop, he prints out the photos taken of the crime scene. And while he waited for the print outs, the agent returned his attention to his handheld. It amazed him how he'd always thought that he'd have so many questions to ask the detective; or perhaps have something witty or memorable to say; but now that a moment has presented itself he's choosing to escape reality for the virtual world.

For a moment the only sounds in the room were of L shuffling papers, the printer shooting ink onto paper then shoving it from the machine, and Matt clicking buttons and watching the game character, Henry, thwart off monsters; all the while stealing glances at the detective when he thought he wasn't looking.

"Do you play?" He waved his dark blue PSP, as if it were a better explanation than his asking about it directly. The glow from the screen waved over L like a freaky light show.

Turning his attention from the papers, to see what Matt was talking about, he nods with a small smile "Not as often as I'd like to."

"Really?" He grinned, knowing that they have a general meeting ground for getting to know each other on a non-professional level. "Do you wanna do a campaign with me in Resident Evil 6?" He paused his current game again by leaving Henry in a neutral area. "I know it's not the most popular in ranking, but" he removes the paper stack from the drop table.

Matt didn't get to finish his thought because L begins to speak. "That's only the opinion of those who feel too many options takes away from the story; its hard for some to focus on the bigger picture." He reaches for a porcelain tea cup; and with the silver kettle he pours himself a cup. "That being said, I'd be happy to play, Matt." Sipping from the tea cup, its set down on a tiny saucer with an audible _clink_. "But, focus on the case first, please."

"Of course." He removes a folder from the desk drawer, sliding the photos inside. "Will you and _HE_ be helping us?"

"Not right away," He wasn't bothered by the disapproving tone towards Light. "we're heading out early to get him a physician, and physical therapist. Once we get back, we'll go over the progress of the case. You should be made aware that he'll be joining one of your teams." Stirring his tea with his near finished sweet; he asks softly. "Please don't make it hard on him."

_'Easier said...'_ He thinks dejectedly, but nods. "I'm going back to bed. Night, L."

"Good night, Mail."

Matt paused when hearing his birthname spoken. He should have known he would bring up the hacking thing. He just figured he'd get lucky and the conversation would be saved for after breakfast. It wasn't even a conversation really. It was just a direct acknowledgement.

Saying goodnight again, he walked out of the room; the gamer hadn't realized that his heart was racing until he was a few steps away from Mello's bedroom. But a grin broke out over his face from the whole ordeal. That was L. That was fucking L! Okay, so he's repeating himself now, but it's still hitting him.

Bewildered, he looks down at his screen when a quiet sound coming from the speaker hit his ear, made possible by the sleeping silence in the house. "Shit." He muttered seeing Henry getting whailed on by the Twins. Trying to save him; he figured it'd be better if he turned the game off, and called it a night.

0 0 0

Mello hummed in appreciation of the gentle tugging going on at his lap; it's been too long since he's woken up with morning glory, even longer than that since he's had someone other than himself to take care of it. His eyes are still closed when his chain-smoking lover hefts a knee over his thighs to sit down over his length.

He continued audibly basking in the pleasure of that smooth, wet heat that's gliding up and down his member; and he casually smoothed a hand over the length of Matt's back. "What does this mean?" He asked from his place in a dream-fog; he's trying to show some self-retraint by not arching from the bed or wildly bucking his hips in beg of more of Matt's enticing hole.

Matt leaned over to press their lips together, and he chuckled against the blond's kissing him languidly before answering.. "I thought maybe we'd sleep in for a bit this morning."

"That sounds like a good idea," He replied with a nibble of Matt's lower lip between his teeth.

A tell-tale drumming hit the windows of their bedroom sounding like a spray of bullets from a gattling gun; laughter erupted from the pair in realization that they'll have to work in that delightful London rain they've often heard about.

"Now it sounds like an even better idea." Gripping the back of Matt's head, he puts more oomph into their making-out by turning it into a brawl; he rolled over pinning Matt to the bed where he could better plow into the male at his desired pace.

_**Television:**_ The bodies of four women were found dead late last night, by a man who seems to be popping up everywhere there's a crime committed.

It wasn't the volume that startled them, but the fact that the television turned on on its own- if only. Mello collapsed against Matt with a groan, and he shook his head in wonder of why? The pair remained plastered together; listening to the sound of movement in the room.

"I'd been wondering how to get the two of you up this morning," Near's smooth tone cut through the television's muttering. "But it would seem you've got it covered."

"Get out." Mello groaned into Matt's throat, hardly in the mood to stop or be bothered by whatever Near is going on about.

"I'll go. I just thought you'd like a heads-up that our only lead to whom the killer is was found at another crime scene." He lowers the remote to the coffee table. "It's been all over the news. Do with it what you will if you still intend to have your pound of flesh this morning."

That pound of flesh just flashed the brat as they hurried over to the sitting area to look at the television. Near whirled a finger around a lock of his hair; it wasn't hard to keep his eyes averted from their nude bodies, but the image was a bit distracting when he'd seen Mello's burns. He knew he'd had an accident when he'd seen his rivals eye, but he had no idea how far it had gone, or what had happened to create it.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding." Mello muttered about the report. "What are the odds of Quimby not being the killer when he's been dropped off at another crime scene?"

Near chose that moment to take his leave. He has his own work to get to now.

Scratching the back of his head, he gives a small shake of disbelief. "So much for sleeping in; we gonna question him again?" He looks at Mello.

"Cop-house probably has him now." Looking past Matt to where the albino pain had been seated, he's glad to see he's gone. "I'll go to the scene; you can make some copies of the first place and show them around to the neighbors."

"I already made the copies lastnight;" he shrugged a hand. "I was gonna surprise you that we could take a little longer getting up, but... here we are."

Grinning, he pinched Matt's cheeks like a grandparent would; shaking his head and all. "Aaaww, you're so cute." He laughed when Matt smacked his hands away telling him to shut up. "We can at least eat." He crossed the room for the bathroom. "Call for something quick."

Matt let out a deflated sigh as he scooped up his boxers to slip on so the help wouldn't get a private viewing of the Full Monte. Pressing the button he called down to the kitchen for a dozen croissants, and something to spread on them- so long as one of the options is chocolate. Going into the bathroom, once Mello departed, and relieved himself fully annoyed that the relief wasn't of another form.

"You know, we can finish what we started once we get back."

Smiling, Matt shook himself off and replied. "I do love moaning over a good case file." He's washing his hands at the sink by the time the upstairs butler knocked on the door with their food.

Mello scoffed at the baked goods he'd only ever heard about or read about. What the fuck do you do with a scone? Lob it at someone? He couldn't help wondering if Near might float by in the hall, and he flexed his pitching arm. Matt left the bathroom looking half starved when food came into his line of vision, and he instantly picked up a scone in one hand and a knife in the other, and swathed it through a creamy glob of raspberry preserve.

He practically declared it delicious before it had even gone into his mouth, he's so hungry right now. His bite exceeded the preserve and he chewed happily over the large amount in his mouth, and dipped his knife back in for more of the sweet spread. Mello watched a moment before getting a hand on his own eats; and sliced a croissant in half then slathered it with a chocolate spread so thick and creamy only pudding is its rival. He ravaged the chocolate sandwich in three big bites, then grabbed for another.

The pair ate in a mutual silence; listening to the news report in the background. It would seem Quimby has given his statement to the police who aren't re-telling his tale in his stead. The best thing the reporters could offer was that the journalist woke up at yet another crime scene. Well, duh, he'd been the one to call the police about it so that wasn't exactly a shocker. Their gazes were practically glued to the television screen when the camera showed the bodies being taken from the hotel. And, unspokenly, they begin eating faster.

By the time they finished six pastries between them, the pair dressed in a hurry and bolted from the home. On his way to the stairs, Matt half expected to spot the detective having a meal in the library but he knew he wouldn't be there since he and Light are currently at the hospital. He hoped Kira didn't plan on joining him and Mello to investigate. If the guy still needs to have a doctor looking after him, he'll be a hindrance to the fast-paced couple for sure. Better he be with Near's squaters; the kid could probably use another field guy since he's only got the one now. And to be frank, he and Mello are all they need.

"Think the preserves'll still be in our room when we get back?" Matt asked while turned to Mello and giving him a smooch.

Offering a pleased hum in response, the blond replied. "I hope so." Grabbing a set of keys, he chose a sleek black bike from the lot.

Matt seemed to have fallen in love, because he was back in the silver muscle waving to him before keying life into the engine.

...

The woman pulling open the door smiled upon seeing the tight-lipped agent standing behind it. "Well now, it's you again isn't it?"

"Hi. I'm sorry to bother you again," he says flatly. "but I'm doing a little follow-up on the case. And I need for you to look at some photos."

"Sure I will. Come on in, have yourself some tea or do you prefer coffee?" She walked into the kitchen assuming Matt would follow. "I know you're not from around here."

"Coffee's good." He takes a seat at the island counter.

The thing is gigantic! He couldn't understand why she needs the table and booth when this sucker could easily fit six. Guess this explained why the living room was so dinky. He watched the woman fix him a cup of coffee; answering how he takes it before the mug is set down before him. The gossipy woman took a seat beside him with her own cup filled with earl grey tea.

"What can I do for you then?"

"I need you to look over these photos of your neighbor's house, Mrs. Arterbury." After a thought he asked. "You have been over there, right? On more than one occassion."

"I should say so," Mrs. Arterbury declared. "Been over for tea and chat, and my kids have been in and out like it's their second 'ome."

"Are your kids here? They can help out too."

Pointing a finger towards the living room, she replied. "Been upstairs playin' all morning." Standing from the stool, she asked. "Shall I go an' get 'em?"

"Yeah." He nods.

The gossip had to agree with the agent's blond partner that he doesn't know how to talk to people. It seems to teeter on polite, but in an indifferent way. It's actually rather odd at that; but she'd gone up and fetched her kids for him. Matt looked over the scruffy little kids with a smirk of pity. They looked fresh out of that Oliver Twist movie he'd seen when he was seven, and Whammy's was having movie night in the home's theater room. The only thing their tweed pants, and colored buttoned shirts were missing was a paperboy's cap. And all three were their mother's spitting image.

"Hi. My name's Matt" He mentally swore when he realized Matt was a lazy name without a sur attached to it. He hardly sounded official at all. _'Come on, old boy, think of anything.'_ He began again. "Matt S. Kennedy, I'm with the F.B.I." One kid, who looked to be the youngest, stuffed his pinky up his nose. What a lack of respect. "I wanna ask you kids about seven nights ago."

"Are you talking about what's happened to Jimmy and Alie?" Asked a taller boy, who was undoubetly the oldest. "That's pretty scary stuff. I used to know them."

"We all did stupid!" Snapped the middle child.

"Shut up, you goon."

"You shut up!"

Their mother took a hand across the backs of their heads, including the youngest who hadn't even done anything during the arguement. "That's no way to treat the memory of your friends, dammit. Now listen to what Mr. Kennedy has to say."

_'I should have taken pictures at the crime scene.'_ He grumped to himself. "Take a look at these photos and tell me if there's anything in them that doesn't belong." Handing them over with some hesitance, he adds. "There's a lot of blood in one of them," he looked at their mother.

"Oh gosh, what these kids don't know would surprise me more." She waved off the formality of a forewarning.

"Is this like one of those search pictures?" Asked the middle boy looking it over.

"You could see it that way." He lifts his mug and takes a gulp of coffee, sipping gradually while the family looked over the photos; he almost seemed to be using it as a lame shield for his people-skill lacked nerves.

"This is different." Says the middle child handing the photo of the child's bedroom back to Matt. "Unless his mum changed the room around for him, Jim's bed's supposed to be on this opposite wall." He stabs the photo where the bed should have been. "We'd call through the wall if we wanted to play at each other's house."

Making a mental note of that, Matt was about to ask another question when the oldest child cut him off. "We heard Alie scream when she'd gone upstairs! Does that help?!"

"It does actually... when was this?" He asked the child. "Do you know what time it was?"

He shook his head so that his dirty blond hair swung back and forth over his forehead. "But it was dark out, and we'd just ate."

_'I can't do cognitive, I don't have that touch Mello has.'_ He thinks somberly. _'It is a good clue though; two good clues actually.'_

"I didn't see anything else different about the house; and I've never been up to the kids' bedrooms, so I wouldn't notice a difference there."

"Thank you." Getting up from the stool; the leather flexed audibly in his departure. "I'll be next door if you think of anything else."

"At the Talbott's?" Asked the middle child, who seemed to be the family vocalist- after his mother. "Can we go too?!"

"Yeah, I wanna see."

Feeling his brow twitch, he couldn't help thinking that the bloody pictures should have been enough. "No." He shook his head.

The children broke into a fit of "pleeeeease" and Matt just about broke out in hives as he took his leave of them along with the photos. He departs for the last stop of his questioning session, which is just a quick sweep of the Talbott's home, when he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket. Lifting it out, he took the call.

"Phone-sex already, it must be brutal over there." He chuckled while opening the door of the Talbott house, still swathed in yellow crime scene tape.

"I haven't gotten there yet, I was calling to tell you Jim Talbott senior just arrived from the airport and the police have got him. Feel like questioning him?"

"No." He answered from a place tired of conversing with the human race. "But I'll do it anyway."

"I'll send you the address."

Ending the call, Matt then opened the door stepping inside.

0 0 0

Mello swung his leg from around the other side of the bike as he surveyed the scene before him. The place was still crawling with cops standing about like the rain weren't affecting them at all, when he's got on his long coat to keep rain from his attire that's usually treated unkindly in wet weather, even the hood of his coat is drawn up to prevent anything moist from slithering down the throat of the coat while he travelled to The Randolph and stopped.

Victorian Goth. The large yellow brick building with the black roof tops loomed before him like gold bathed in the silver weather's atmosphere. 4 floors of rooms, unless the upper half wasn't an attic.

He only had to explain that he was one of L's men and they let him right through to the scene. He didn't have to ask which room the crime was committed, that was made obvious by the men walking in and out of it on the third level, most of them he figured to be part of the forensics team because the cops were around the hotel speaking with the occupants.

Inspite of his intentions not to look like a novice, he never could get used to the stench of death and he brought a handkerchief up to his nose and mouth. Outline tape gave away where the bodies resided and he sees that they were on the bed and a chaise lounge. The news report said the victims were four women, so than what were they all doing collected in this room and in the places they were found?

Mello's face commically expressed its thoughts in wonder if women had organized orgies or erotic slumber parties outside of pornos? That didn't seem right to him, more sickening than a wonder. Removing his camera from his coat pocket he begins snapping photos of the spacious room.

White walls, a large queen-sized bed with an open canopy, the floor is covered in a thin beige carpet. He thought the floral armchairs were a bit tacky against the striped curtain covering the bed, but that wasn't conversation one would have out loud. He checked every closet and bathroom space for suspicious leavings but found none. The only harm done to the room was in the main part of the room.

Removing his phone from his pocket he calls Matt. "Hey, can you get me the photos from this morning, they should be documented by now."

"On it." He hung up.

It took a few minutes before his phone buzzed that he's got mail. He smiled at the emoticon Matt sent as the header, making light of the fact that he's got mail from a Mail. Looking through the photos he checked the room glancing up and down with each inch he skimmed not finding anything off with it, moved around, removed or otherwise. But then again...

Leaving the room he tromps down the hall to the stairwell where he quickly descends. "Hey," he says to the front clerk who looked like he'd need a week in bed to recover from what happened at the hotel. "Can you tell me if all the rooms are the same in the building, or just the ones on the third floor?"

Composed at being addressed; Mello supposed the feigned concern was to deflect suspicion that he'd allowed anything to happen at the hotel. "All the rooms are done in the same fashion, a different design for each floor."

"Are all the rooms on the third floor occupied, I'd like to have a look around?"

"Why? I thought the murder was in room 4." Though he'd reached below the desk to grab a key for room 2.

"I only need a look around, in case something was left at the scene or taken from it." He took the key from the man; patting the desk with his leather gloved hand as a thank you before he walked back upstairs.

Mello let himself into the room and wasn't surprised to find the room held the same things as the crime scene's. Everything was on the opposite side though. But aside from that there was nothing unusual or different about the room except the lack of blood. Obviously. Other fluids was a blue lights little secret. Closing the door and locking it, he walked into room 4 to again look over where the bodies had been.

Taking his attention from the outlines to study the bodies, he made a mental note that all the women in the room look similar: same hair color, same facial shape, same height. The only difference was the hue of their complexions. 2 pale and 2 a more natural hue.

_'But is it relevant?'_ He wondered. _'Hell, the only thing tying the two crimes together is Quimby.'_ He scoffed. _'A lot of help he is when he's always awake after the murder and knocked out before.'_

Manuevering around the forensics squad he exits the room and hotel after returning the key to the front desk. _'Fucking rain, let up already.'_ He gripped as he pulled the hood back over his head for cover.

0 0 0

On the other side of the city, Matt was at the police station talking to Jim Talbott senior. The man is burly and beady-eyed, holding himself with his arms crossed though his eyes gave it away that he's been crying, and not too long ago. To keep from having mental holes drilled into his head, he decided to swipe a pad and pencil from an officer's desk and with it he pretended to take notes of what Mr. Talbott is saying, when he's really just doodling to keep his gaze down.

"And does your work take you out of town often?" He asked, hoping for something substantial to come out of all of it.

The man cleared enough phlegm to have belonged in a few peoples throats before answering. "Yeah, I often leave for work purposes, so what's that got to do with my wife and kids getting murdered?" He almost choked out the sentence as another round of sadness came back at him.

"Maybe nothing... unless, of course, you were actually intending to go someplace else and calling it business."

"Oy!" He got up so quickly the chair snipped as it shoved back a bit; the cops in the room all came alert. "Don't you be accusing me of something I'm not. That's my family you're talking about."

"Okay, okay..." He waved his hands. _'Chill out.'_

When the riled up widower sat himself back in his chair, almost missing it not having noticed over his outburst that it had moved, he returned to his closed off posture of crossed arms and a mean pout.

"I'm just being thorough. We need to know why anyone would kill your wife and kids, if this wasn't random slaughter?"

That seemed to break his composure because the flood gate opened and the sobs just spilled out. Matt looked at the man as though he'd just farted or something. What was he supposed to do with a weeping grown man? Slap him? Or does that only work on hysterical women? It was worth a shot...

Lifting his hand he's startled to stop when the man sat back in the chair choosing to get a hold of himself. That's lucky. So much so, he wouldn't be shocked if a car came plowing through the building just to balance out the good and the bad. Again he tries to cover some ground.

"Mr. Talbott? Do you have any reason to believe someone would want to harm your family?"

He shook his head. "No, nothing that I'd know of."

"Really? Think about it... Has your wife ever done something, something that maybe pissed someone off that they'd hate her enough to kill her?" Recalling what the neighborhood gossip said, he adds. "Possibly a man?"

"Unless she'd met someone while I was away; we know the same people." He nods. "She was well liked- not saying she was a saint but she was well liked."

"Okay." That got him nowhere, which means it wasn't personal. As far as they know. "Can you look at these for me. Can you tell me if anything looks new to you?" He hands the man the photos of his home.

He once again started sobbing. He could cry on the photos if he liked, Matt had more copies in the folder on the desk. When Jim finally got it back together he pointed out the bed just as Mrs. Arterbury's son had.

"And that's the only thing?"

"I'm sure. But my wife could have moved it."

"Did she do that often?"

"Once a month at least, but it was usually just scooting it against the corner or away from it. She liked to be able to look in on the brats at the door."

At least that made him smile, thought Matt. He told the man that he had to stay at a hotel while the crime scene clean up team removed the evidence of the murder from the home. It's protocol, since most people don't remain in the home that their family was murdered in. He said his goodbye, and informed him to call the police with more information if he thought of anything. By the time he was ready to head home, Mello called him declaring the same.

He wondered if L and Light had come back from the hospital yet? He hoped not, he had to be there for what was to come. And he sped home before he could be called away to do anything more.

...

"I've never heard you say anything funny." Light retorts to L's comment of how come he isn't in a better mood, considering how funny he is?

"I crack people up all the time." Remarked the detective.

"How?" He looks out the window at London passing them by. "Aside from your stunning good looks." And he smirked at his dig.

The pair just got done with checking him into the hospital as an 'out-patient', and now they're on their way to L's manor. Light's never been out of Japan before, and he supposed he should be thrilled, and he is, but he still has his qualms with the detective's agents. Light Yagami has never been one to fall victim to the 'new kid in town' treatment but he doesn't want to offend L in his home by disagreeing and not getting along with his people.

"Hmm?" And he took on a thoughtful pose with his index finger tapping lightly against his bottom lip. "How 'bout a joke?"

"Okay, shoot." The idea of this devoid of normal human-being telling a joke at all is a funny joke in itself.

"I've got a great one," L says, "MO does not mean motive." and he smiled.

Grinning, Light raised a hand in saying "Touché." that the detective can make funny jokes.

The town car slowed down when they reached a long brick and wrought iron fence, it came to a stop while the gate opened up for it then continued its way around the long drive to the front door. As they exit the car; the driver seeing to their bags, the pair walk to the door greeted by the butler once it's opened.

"Bon après-midi, Monsieur L et Monsieur Light." Duvernay greets. "Il est bon de vous avoir enfin avec nous."

Mello, Matt, Near, and even Gevanni watch from the top of the grande staircase as the pair move into the home. It was like Christmas on crack with the way the otherwordly detective kept his back to them, almost like it were on purpose.

"Avez-vous mangé?" The butler swept his hand out right with means to lead them into the dinette to have lunch.

"Pas encore, je vous remercie." Replied L following his butler.

The spying agents practically fell on their ways down the stairs after them. How could he just leave and not say anything to them?! He had to know they were there?! Waiting and watching. There were things they wanted to know. Things they wanted to tell. Apologies secreted to him over how things had gone down when they'd thought he was dead.

The second floor butler walked past them with L and Light's bags in his hands. They were almost tempted to follow him and see which room the detective was going to be placed with the prisoner, but they reminded themselves that they're adults now and nosing after L was kid's stuff. But down the stairs they went with intentions of being nosey, though discreetly.

The new arrivals heard the scurrying of mice in the hall as they took a seat at the small table where the servants on duty have their meals. The cook nearly wet herself moving about the kitchen to fix a meal for her employer and his guest. It's been a long time since L's been home. The tours of the prestigious home have only just stopped a month ago; the help were asked to leave the home as the tourist monument it's turned into, but when L is at home, it's just that. A home.

And she remembered his favorites, 2 eggs and three heavily dressed pieces of toast. For the lord's guest she supposed a semi-traditional breakfast would do. She's never fed an oriental before, and isn't wordly enough to know his usual intake. But she'd learn, for now they need a meal on the fly.

"Sounds like we've got company," L says to Light.

"At this hour? How appauling." He felt like playing as a rich brat.

"Come in, everyone; don't be shy." He called to the ambling hall dwellers.

Matt pushed Mello forward, he's always said he's had a sort of relationship with L, let him be the first under that watchful gaze in daylight. Near can be next, and his pretty boy techie, then he'll go in. In spite of having spoken to L last night, that was in a dimly lit room where they were on even ground, now he's where he is and L is towering. It seems like an exagerated playing up too, but that's how Whammy's raised them, and even after having left it, at the base of their skulls they knew it was for L. They wanted his place, sure, that was the goal. But they wanted more than that. They wanted the legend to be true. Touchable. Someone they can see and walk beside. Be acknowledged by.

And right now, with the legend himself smiling at them around a spoonful of Cadbury Egg- or possibly just smiling because he's enjoying his brunch- they feel like they're somewhat to that place. "Hello. Salut. Привет. Hola. Moi and various others... I am, L."

Light couldn't help rolling his eyes, though this went unseen by the others since his back is to them.

"And I'm sure I don't need to introduce you to Light." He gives his lover a nod. "Where I'm sure there are numerous things you'd like to ask me, please save your questions for after the meeting, which will begin once Light and I have eaten, changed, then join you in the upstairs library. Good? That's wonderful." His spoon is plunged back into the fine chocolate eggshell. "You may go work on your cases now."

Stunned silence took that as their dismissal, and they walked out of the room no closer to the dream than when they'd walked in.

Snickering, Light asked. "Don't you think that was a little harsh?"

L only blinked. "What? You didn't think that was funny?" He smiled. "They all have preconceived notions of me, can't I play up to them once in a while?"

"Thank you." He says to the cook when a plate of pop-overs and ham with a couple sunny side up eggs laid carefully over the meat and ready to run like a golden river along the plate. "You've got a point. If they knew the L _I_ know" he cut into his ham steak. "you'd be the one out there doing the grunt work, if they didn't make you a Page-boy outright."

"You may be right." He muttered over a large bite of thickly cut brioche french toast, that's slathered with Nutella, and topped with bananas that have honey and chocolate drizzle running over it. Just as he likes it. "But how does Light know that his L is the right one?"

Light only blinked thoughtfully, then returned to his meal.

...

Having returned to their room; Matt can't help the grin on his face. "So... What d'you think?"

"About what?" He's looking over the police reports from Quimby.

"About L?"

Mello seemed to think it over, then he shrugged. "I could take him either way."

Scoffing from shock of how blasé his lover can be sometimes- _he_ who seemed to love L more than any of them, just giving the situation a "whatever" response; Matt leaned against the computer desk, arms crossed. He knew how to get him. "Did you know L likes gaming?"

Cocking a brow, Mello snapped a bite from his candy bar before asking around the chunk in his teeth. "How do you know that?"

Feeling one peg higher, Matt replied. "I asked him last night, he was in the study with Light." Opening the folder of pictures from the lastest murder scene, he went on. "We talked like friends, you know how it is."

Mello snorts. 'He knows how it is'. Who was this kid all of a sudden? "Doesn't matter, because I've met L on occassions too."

"Oh, you mean those times back at the house when he would tell you stories about cases." Shaking his head, he says. "Newsflash, Mel', no one's ever believed you."

"Yeah?"

They continued teasing each other for status.

"Well what about my notes? Huh?"

"Oh what? Your short story about a case file you could have found somewhere at Whammy's?" He takes a step back when his lover gets up in his face like the umpires at baseball games, chewing out fouled players. "I've read it and frankly, I'm not impressed."

"Oh, you're dead. Now."

Shoving the male onto the bed, he climbed on top of him pinning him down by entraping thighs, to dole out a good beating with one of the few pillows above them.

In the upstairs study Near and Gevanni's conversation is of the same subject but a different direction.

"What do you think L will do now that he's here?" Gevanni asked and he can already feel his place in the home leaving him. How weird will it be messing around with Near with his boss around? And in the man's home, no less.

"I think he'll do what he normally does when he's here." He says in a casual tone. "Whether or not he'll be assisting us with the case, we'll see during the meeting."

"You mentioned something about him never having chosen a successor before his death... Do you think he's still looking to choose one of you, since he's actually alive?"

Near's dark gray gaze fell upon his agent with listless boredom. "I think we have more important things to do than make attempts at being mediums. Like look over this morning's findings. We're not any closer to solving this case than we were yesterday." Handing him a sheet of paper, he adds. "Stay focused."

"Right."

And to think just three hours earlier he'd been basking in the afterglow of last night's newly covered ground. He'd been skeptical at first, but once they'd found their pace it was amazing. Near was sloppy for his first time not knowing any angles or speeds, but he'll learn. Hopefully he'd allow a lesson through example. Gevanni could show the young detective the joys of pleasure in the likes he's never seen. If he'd just let him.

Sucking in a breath, he began to ask "Near..." but was cut off by the intercom buzzing.

"Will everyone in the manor" It's Duvernay. "please report to the second floor library. The meeting will begin shortly. Thank you."

Time to get to the real work.

...

Commentary: Happy New Year, and as I roam about saying on the first of every year "first update of the new year" and after this first commentary of the new year. I really do have to work out the case so that you can all follow along and possibly solve it with them, and that takes a minute. If this were just a story I'd be near to done I'm betting. Thank you both for your reviews, missdarlingdeath and xfanficaholicx, I know it can be embarrassing being pointed out but I never stop meaning the thank yous, so it's hard not to do it by username.

I'm gonna get back to my Walking Dead marathon, I hope you're all having a really good season and holiday... I didn't. I got robbed because the mail people kept putting return to sender on my packages. That's some old bull in my book.


	4. Words Between Words

The small group of housemates reached the second-floor library almost at the same time. Mello snatched a seat in the front of the four chair set up of gathered Chip and Dale chairs. Beside him sat Near, and behind them sat their agents Matt and Gevanni. The former mafia members were prepared to make a violent jolting slam to their left into Near and Gevanni when Kira entered the room and grabbed a chair from one of the tables; but to their surprise, and thanks, he set it down beside the chair that's been placed in front of their's for L.

They didn't need to voice that he had a lot of nerve, their peeved expressions hollered loudly enough about it- if Light had been paying attention to it.

When his cool gaze landed on them, Light wasn't exactly smiling at them either; he took a seat crossing arms and legs, and with a bored expression aimed nowhere, he waits for L to enter the room.

Matt leaned forward and swatted Near on the back of the head, clearing his throat before righting himself on his chair. The younger detective's eyes rolled to the ceiling, and he ignored Mello's curious look as he stood up and crossed the short distance, hand extended, and with a handsome smile on his face, he says to Light.

"It's nice to see you again, Light. Welcome."

Light looked surprised, almost spooked, but he took the offered hand and gave it a polite shake. "Thank you. It's nice to be here."

With a nod, Near returned to his seat. Last time he ever loses a bet with Matt, he glowered.

Mello looked from Near to Matt over his shoulder, but he only received a wave of the hand that he'd tell him about it later.

Four minutes passed before L sauntered into the library, hands in his pockets, posture terribly relaxed in front of his subordinates; and with all the grace of a dancer he placed a foot on the seat of the cushioned chair and with a pivot brought his other foot up for balance before he crouched down with his hands on his knees, and his dark eyes taking the detectives and agents in.

Light smirked at a private joke as he wondered if the four were waiting with bated breath for what L was going to do next. Hn. They'd probably marvel at him for his technique for scratching his ass. The room remained in an audible silence, but before anyone could say anything to disrupt it one of the butlers walked in with a cart of desserts. Fresh strawberries with the green removed so they can stand with their points to the ceiling. The berries have been cut horizontally and vertically to hold the piped in whipped cream and drizzles of chocolate sauce.

"Thank you." L monotoned to the servant before taking a berry into his pinched grasp. "Please pass me your dossiers so I may look them over."

Near produced his manilla folder first, handing it over to L. Mello had to retrieve theirs' from Matt before he could hand it up. This was just like when they were children, except now the person taking their dossiers isn't Roger who would then hand them off to L, once he's gone through them. They're going to the man himself. And it was impossible for Mello not to feel like a kid again, back when they were set in front of a monitor of some kind: television, computer screen, or a speaker. All ready to ask him questions- credible or otherwise. He's sure Matt and Near feel the same way: and they could all agree that this is much more favorable because L's here in the flesh! It was too surreal!

The four sit quietly, calmly, watching L go through their folders; now and then the detective would remove a rich red fruit from the tray to nibble on by first noisily removing the cream, through a suctioned sip before he would ingest the berry. Mello wondered if L knew how suggestive it looked when he absently pushed his finger into the top of the split berry, bobbing it in and out before he would stick the cream coated finger to his lips to lick the mess off.

Handing the dossiers back to Mello and Near, L then addressed them as a whole. "Aside from his showing up at the crime scenes, why do you like Ellis Quimby for the murderer?"

Near and Mello slid sizing glances at each other, unsure of whether or not this was a moment to raise hands or simply see who could speak first or the loudest.

"I'll make it simpler for you. Matt?" L gave him the floor.

_'Crap. Teacher behavior never changes no matter how old you get.'_ Adjusting his goggles, he settles for placing them down around his neck. _'Always calling on the kids who don't seem to be paying attention. ...Ellis Quimby... Why, aside from the obvious?'_ Taking a deep breath, he answers the question. "For starters, his existence is too isolated with no wife, partner, or kids it's hard to take his word that he hasn't left his house to commit the murders."

"Even with the doctor's reports of when the victims were killed?" Asked L.

"Yeah. As it turns out the Talbott's were killed two days before Quimby showed up at their house, that was according to the neighbor. And forensics proved her right." He looked briefly to Mello as if asking for assistance, then he continued on. "So Quimby could have easily done the deed, checked out, then went back to the murder scene. We think he wants to create a buzz to gain some recognition as a reporter. He only writes mediocre articles and gossip for the paper, and everyone wants to be on television or known for something more than a blurb."

"Interesting. And the more recent crime?"

"No one can prove that he was placed there. He could have killed those women last night and called the cops in the morning to cover his tracks. Not to mention he would have been seen entering the hotel by the staff or the front clerk if it were in a suspicious way." Elaborating, he says. "Wouldn't anyone look at someone being carried into a place? It's too noticeable."

They all agreed whether they nodded or simply understood that Matt was right.

"Killing for fame." L pondered the concept out loud to himself. "It's certainly a possibility. Near?"

"My theory is no different than Matt's, the only difference is that I believe it's a two-man operation so that Quimby can have a chance to exonerate himself of the crime being committed while still gaining recognition through being chosen as the one who's abducted."

"Mm." Grabbing another berry, he applied light pressure to it squeezing the filling from its sides and he sucked away the overflow then ate the berry. Speaking with an occupied mouth, he says. "I'd like to consider this because the murders are somewhat random at its core," the detective continued with his musings. "mutilating the Talbott children seems a bit personal while the mother sits, almost peacefully, watching what's gone on. Even with a slit wrist, you'd react to your children being slaughtered."

The detectives and their agents look at the photos they've taken.

"The police report showed that Mrs. Talbott had a suppressant in her system, along with a little alcohol. Getting the refrigerated bottle of wine tested, it showed that it was heavily laced with" Mello paused to pronounce it correctly. "Flunitrazepam or Rohypnol, as it's often called."

Going through his mental library of medications, Near wondered. "A simple sedative would have kept Mrs. Talbott still, so then why use medication that treats dementia?"

"With how those women looked almost peaceful, I wouldn't be surprised if they're sporting a little something too." Comments Matt. "Tox-screens hasn't come in yet." He checks his phone to be sure.

"Maybe it was something the unsub had on hand." Mello threw it out there. "He or she could be using it for their own personal reason."

Matt already made a note to check all the names of people who were given the drug either directly by a doctor or over the counter from a pharmacist.

"And there's something about the photos that's caught my eye... Do any of you see it?" His dark gaze swept the four with a question.

They all knew what L was driving at. They saw it when checking over the photos the police had taken. All of the women were had similar features: the color of their hair, the length, the hue of their skin matched in pairs. The chocoholic detective felt his hand raising but he commanded it back down. He isn't a teenager, this isn't Wammy's house. He's a man now. And, being a man, he answered the question quickly before Near could swoop in for the kill.

"They all possess similarities, face shape, body type... I'm not sure if the women knew this or if it was the unsub's intention. For all we know, only two of them actually knew each other and the other two were abducted for his purpose." He took a second to think.

"And what do you believe is the purpose?" Inquired L.

"You think this guy's after twins- or, at least, look-alikes." Wondered Matt.

"Christ... You honestly wanna go through all those hospital records to find all of England's matched sets? We'd be at this for the rest of our lives trying to figure out who this creep'll go after next."

With a shrug, Matt replied. "We could go by kill zone radius."

"Or maybe it's a message." Near's finger twirls calmly through a lock of his hair. Seeing that he had everyone's attention, he went on. "Similar. Close to... The unsub could be trying to tell us something, either about himself or who he plans on killing next."

"You may be right," L muttered. "If that is the case you'll need to find out what the message is, it could be at the crime scene or on the bodies themselves."

"There are enough of us that we can split up and search the places." Light spoke for the first time since the meeting's begun.

The newcomer has been observing them not quite ready to mix and mingle, but rather to get a feel of the group dynamic. So far he can see that Matt and Mello aren't in the best terms with Near, Gevanni is yet to be decided, and Near is completely indifferent to Mello's malicious feelings. And with the way he's eyeing the back of Near's head subconsciously, he can guess that the albino's techie has a thing for him. If it goes both ways, it's unclear.

"I have work to attend to today, but before I call this meeting to an end is there anything you'd like to ask me involving the case?" He looked at them with a blank expression. "Alright, are there any unrelated question?"

Their gazes look around their small cube of inhabitants before Mello nodded at the elephant in the room. "And who will HE be investigating with?"

On his feet, L replied smoothly. "It's up to you. You don't have the same manpower as Near, and you could use the extra set of hands, eyes, and ears."

'Thought you said it was up to us?' Mello clipped in his head.

"And there's another thing, you are not to address Light by his name outside of these walls." And was L smiling? "From now on he'll be known as Lethally Legal... or Legal for short."

"Excuse me?" Light's comfortable posture bristled before he popped up out of his chair. "Who agreed to an alias, and such a stupid one at that?"

Eyes to the ceiling, he touched his bottom lip in thought. "Funny, it seemed fitting to me. You _are_ Legal." And when he said this he made eye contact with Gevanni, who blanched.

Blinking, he looked to see if anyone had noticed the look, but the other agents were muttering to each other or trying to get the detective's attention. He wondered if L knew about him and Near? If his choice of Light's alias was simply a dig at him or a threat. _'But how could he know?'_ Wondered the techie. Looking at L, he sees the man's large gaze slide to his left.

Turning his head dropped him a lighter shade of pale, as there on the bookshelf- not even hidden but tucked into the upper corner over the books- is a video camera.

"No." Protest Light, cutting L's smirk at Gevanni off so he could listen to him. The newly instated already hated the name, more so when hearing the snickers from the others. As if their aliases were any better! But _Legal_?! Come on! "L?" He followed after the detective's hasty retreat.

Through the calamity of Light's nickname, their sharp eyes didn't miss how rigid L's back had been when he suddenly fled the room, or how annoyed he'd looked suddenly. Passing through the entry way into the hall they watched him calmly storm up the stairs to his bedroom.

"L?!" Mello and Matt called in unison before attempting to follow after him.

"Where do you think you're going?" Asked Light. "We're supposed to be looking in on the case, we don't have time to chase after L. He's a big boy, he can take care of himself."

All eyes flashed dangerously at the unwanted guest as they wondered who the hell he was to talk about L's wants or needs.

"Whatever he's going through, he'll tell you when he's ready, if at all." Brushing off L's brushing them off, his self-included, Light starts for the garage.

The three Wammy's detectives stare after L. Then slowly they began to realize that Light may be right.

"I'll call you if we find anything," Mello said to Matt brushing a quick kiss on his lips.

Scoffing, Matt wished him luck before heading to their bedroom to retrieve his laptop. Near removed his phone, calling Rester while Gevanni followed his boss into the library where they'd been a moment ago. It will be hard to concentrate knowing there's an angered L stewing in a bedroom of his home.

0 0 0

Grabbing a key from the hook, Mello watched Light climb into one of the cars, on the passenger's side. With a humorous snort, he mounts a charcoal-colored motorcycle then turns the key. Before he put on the helmet, he called out to Light.

"I don't know how they're making 'em in Japan these days, but here you have to drive the car manually." He laughed through the roar of the bike's engine starting.

Getting out of the vehicle, Light offered Mello a sort of belligerence by walking over to him and grabbing hold of the bike's handlebars. Locking eyes with the smug blond, he coolly clipped at him. "We're supposed to be working this case _together_, you can't just leave me hanging. I don't know where to go."

Mello wanted to tell the pretty boy to "fuck off" or "learn how to be self-sufficient", but he had a feeling he'd be made to regret it later by the head-honcho. He isn't sure how, but he knows it'll be bad. Shutting off the engine, he spoke through a grit. "Fine. I'll drive us." Because he certainly wasn't gonna allow the murderous bastard to ride on the back of the bike with him. "But stay out of my way once we get there, Yagami."

Not about to show his annoyance, Light opened the door returning himself in the seat. Upon closing the door he looks at Mello with a sort of indifference as he says. "I don't know what your problem is with me, but I think it would be in both our benefit if you just got over it. I'm here for L only, and if that involves helping any of you at this point in time, then that's something you'll have to accept."

_'Hn. Even with customized amnesia this asshole's sole focus, good or bad, aside from annihilating half the population, is L.'_ Starting the car, he glanced into the rearview to avoid looking over his shoulder and having to glance at the snide passenger. _'It sucks that the little shit has a point, though. He probably doesn't wanna be here any more than we want him here.'_ Sighing out his grievance through his nostrils, he mutters. "Fine."

"Good." Thumbing through the dossier Mello tossed into his lap when climbing into the car, Light looks over the photos with more care. He's seen the ones that the police have taken with L, and as any good detective knows a good amount of different eyes in one location counts. "I'm curious about your theory of it being Quimby who's looking for recognition. If this guy has left clues at the scene then he either wants us to know who's the next to die so we can stop him, as Near suggested, because he's killing for the purpose of morbid sport and his possible dementia wants us to stop him, or _he's_ the one looking for the recognition and is using Quimby to get the word out by leaving him at the crime scene." Looking at Mello's profile, he asked. "Have you made any announcements in the news? Do you have a liaison?"

"We don't use liaisons, it's too much of a risk to show our faces on such a wide scale." Mello left out the fact that Kira, in particular, is the reason for that. Anytime before they simply didn't need liaisons.

They work discreetly and efficiently, there's no need for televised messages. The press usually hops all over that, and the police their trampoline. For them, any time they need to address the public, there's always the monogram on a blank screen with voice disfigurement.

"I suggest you get used to existing in a sort of secrecy from the rest of the world." Chides the blond. "Or you'll never make it in this crowd."

Always one to do better when challenged, Light continued studying the photos; remaining in a thoughtful silence during the drive to the Talbott's.

_'If L's theory is true, then is the murderer suffering an identity crisis? If the medicine slipped to Mrs. Talbott belonged to him, then it would stand to reason they're using them or recently stopped. That could be the stressor, and what has started him in killing.'_ Flipping through the next set of photos which are of the women in the hotel, Light began to wonder since none of the women were related though they do look similar in appearance._ 'But I can't rely too much on the thought, it could be as simple as a guy wanting to kill for fame because he's been unnoticed his entire life. The similarity thing could just be coincidence, we all unintentionally do it, picking a _'type'_.′_

"Care to share what's on your mind, or am I expected to read it?" Mello jumped across the tracks of Light's train of thought.

"No. I think I'll keep my thoughts private until we get there," Replied Light. "I don't think it's so smart to group-think when we're looking for clues."

"Hn. We don't 'groupthink', we just keep each other in the know about things to gain another perspective." He left out the "Smartass".

"Well, I just thought that the twin effect might just be a distraction... If the unsub thinks we're looking for clues, he might be using that as a means of throwing us off, if he's even aware that he's doing it."

Smirking, Mello returned his glancing eyes to the road. "See, now you're being productive and letting me know we'll be searching in different directions."

"Yeah." Light returned the smirk.

The car slowed to a stop a block away from the Talbott's, it would seem someone in the neighborhood is having a social gathering, that, or these are cars who usually park in front of their own homes but can't today for some reason.

"Hey," Mello says in a mocking tone of voice. "Do you think it'd be _legal_ if I jay-walked to cross the street, I don't feel like going all the way to the crosswalk."

"Ha ha." Muttered Light as he exited the car.

"I'm just making sure that you're not gonna take _legal_ action on me for breaking the law. I know how _lethal _you can be about these things."

"Would you just 'mellow out' with the teasing? You're being immature." Light commented smugly, his satisfaction grew a bit more when the blond narrowed his eyes.

"Haa Haa." He all but stuck out his tongue. Pulling the key from his pocket, it's shoved into the lock allowing them inside. "I'm looking forward to when someone jumps out of the woodwork and _lethally _takes you out." And this time, Mello does stick out his tongue.

0 0 0

"I think L knows."

"I'll go ahead and take it that you're talking about our nefarious encounters." Near dull-drummed in reaction.

Gevanni could only throw his hands up as, once again, a teenager is making him feel like an ass. More so because Near's his superior. "Aren't you worried?"

"That you'll be arrested for statutory rape? Not in the least." He hid a smile as he curled and uncurled a lock of hair. "I'll still be here, working the case with or without you. And if your position is needed beyond Rester's abilities I can always hire outside help from the police or any other capable hacker." And from Whammy's he could think of a few.

"Nevermind, I don't know why I even bothered." Defeated hands threw themselves up.

"Gevanni... If I thought it would be an issue, do you think I would have done anything with you while knowing there were cameras all over the house?"

"You knew!?"

"They're not exactly hidden; L's home is a historical landmark; the Help gives tours of the place when it's not in use by the homeowner." Staring at the computer screen that's showing the crime scene photos, he touches the screen to zoom it in. "If it really makes you all that uncomfortable, we'll stop. It's as simple as that."

_'Maybe for you.'_ Thought the agent with a pout.

"Focus on the case; pleasures of the flesh are nothing to get excited about."

_'I would argue that,'_ Thinks the techie while looking over the photos to see if he can uncover a hidden meaning or message without being at the scene itself. _'but he's never shown anything towards sex outside of curiosity.'_

"And relax. If L had any kind of reaction to what he's seen or could see, he isn't going to take action until the murderer has been brought in."

_'Not exactly the reassurance I was looking for, but I'll take it.'_

Gevanni isn't the only one who's uncomfortable with L in the house. Matt's been pacing outside of the door for four minutes since coaxing himself to go, and so far he can't bring himself to knock.

_'He said we can call on him if we need anything, although it's not about the case... then does it count?'_ He swallowed over a lump in his throat and wondered if he should just turn back.

But something about chickening out always seemed to force the gamer forward. It's no different than standing still in a video game from being afraid of the unknown. He'd have to face it, otherwise, he wouldn't get anywhere. Raising his fist he knocked on the door then waited. Silence. Knocking again the door opened a crack, remained that way. Inviting him in... A little bit. He certainly wasn't planning on calling through the crack, not with what he has to say. He put his palm to the center of the door and pushed it open enough to slide himself in before closing it after himself.

"Am I bothering you?" Asked Matt in a quiet tone.

"No. Come in." L doesn't look at him, just continues his work at the computer. "Sit anywhere." Breaking into Portuguese, L then spoke into another microphone in Dutch.

Matt looked for a spare seat, staggered by how much more impressive a single room can be compared to the many other impressive rooms in the mansion. Grabbing an accent chair that's been placed against the wall he pulls it over to L, just close enough to be noticed but not invade the man's personal space.

"How are you?" Asked the gamer with sincere concern.

L took a pause in his typing to think over the question, of which he replied. "Devastated. And yourself?"

Matt flinched like he'd been smacked across the face, wondering then how to respond when given an answer such as that one. Having nothing he settled for an 'I don't know' shrug.

Addressing him at full-face, L asked. "Is there something you'd like to talk about?"

"It's not so much talking, but... I wanted to apologize, about what happened four years ago."

"I see." L glanced at the computer monitor then looked back to Matt. "Matt... I can't agree with your situation as a whole; but in truth, it was my fault."

Genuinely surprised, Matt repeats him out of uncertainty. "_Your _fault?"

"It was the job of Wammy's house to care for its inhabitants, still is. But we'd failed you by letting your cover go too far." And he met the male's un-goggled gaze evenly. "It was our fault that you became an addict, and went to juvie. I take full responsibility. And humbly ask for your forgiveness."

L's asking for _his_ forgiveness! After all, he's done. To the school's reputation. To his own reputation. Betraying their trust when they gave him those test and he passed with flying colors simply because he knew not to shoot up on those days, or pop a pill. He was destructive. Threatening. And during the bust, he shot an officer clouded in a haze he willingly allowed himself to get in by injecting hallucinogenics into a vein. And rehab was a nightmare after he got out of lock-up. It's why he so willingly joined the American mafia with Mello. Not just because he would follow the blond anywhere, but because he wanted out of all of those feelings, and conversations. Didn't those people know that talking about it only made him lust for it all the more? But L's taking the blame. L's apologizing.

"I... I don't know what to say." He blinked in confusion.

"You don't have to say anything, forgiving me is your choice."

"No, yeah," he nods. "I forgive you. I don't even blame you, so... I guess that's all, huh?"

"It would seem so." L returned to the computer, and into the microphone, he speaks to someone in Cantonese before listening to their end.

"I'm gonna go. Thanks again." He stands on shaking legs unable to believe what just happened. L wanted his forgiveness. _His!_ What kind of luck is that?

Almost out the door, Matt turned around marching across the room, where he then spins the detective's chair to face him and from there he wrapped his arms around L's skin-and-bone frame, giving him a firm embrace. It was evident that the man has never been touched without initiating it first, a tell-tale sign was the silent gasp the man-made, and the widening of his already enlarged eyes.

"For what it's worth, we're all sad about Mr. Wammy's death. Sorry, it happened."

And slowly, a trembling arm rose and, at the end of it, L placed his index finger on Matt's back between the shoulder blades returning the hug. "Thank you." He said softly. When the agent retracted from the hug, L spoke again with a voice calm and even. "But, please, never speak Quillish's name or alias in this home again."

Matt didn't feel L needed to have emotion in his voice or on his face. Hearing those words come from the person who was closest to the man, is hurting the worst in the man's absence made the implication clear. It needs no inflection for how sincere and deeply needed the request was. And with a nod he left the room with the intention of spreading the word.

...

Matt's in the middle of a drum solo with a couple pencils when Near walks into the library carrying a laptop.

"Hey, squirt."

"Mind if I sit in here?" The younger detective asked out of courtesy though he's already found a chair across from the techie having answered himself.

"Go ahead." He continues drumming until Near is situated. "L asked me to do him a favor, and on his behalf, I'm spreading the word, that we're not to talk about the old man in his presence."

Near's dark gaze settled on Matt's then looking off to the side, the younger detective nodded. He knew L was upset, but he didn't think it went towards losing Quillish Wammy. But it made sense, the man must have been more to the detective if he was as much to them as he had been. A mentor. A friend. Someone to look up to. It's how a lot of the kids at the school wanted to see L. And have him be in their life. Near included. He was shaken more than he'd thought when they were told that he was dead. He was out for blood. Kira's blood. And when he thought Mello was killed, his resolve grew all the more.

He bit his lower lip to stop himself from boiling with anger over the fact that, once again, he's reminded that Kira is still alive. And still, has not been reprimanded for his actions. And for Near, there will be no jail. If Light screws up again, he will most certainly take the young man's life.

"Come up with anything yet?" Asked Matt ceasing his musical career with pencils.

"Nothing. And I'd ask you, but judging by your captive audience the answer will be the same."

Chuckling Matt whirled the pencil pointing it at the teen to say "point made". "But is it my fault? This unsub's a real dick, if he left any messages, it's not from any angle we can easily see in a photograph. I figure why not bored-out."

"I've sent Gevanni to speak with Quimby. He was really only in the way staying here."

Balancing a pencil mustache, Matt caught it when it fell free. "Small talk? Hn. You are bored." Standing, he reached into his pocket pulling out a dark blue handheld. "DS? It's in _3D_." He waved it before the boy's vision.

Near gave it a long glance before pushing Matt's hand away. "I don't play video games."

"Right. You like toys.." He snickered. "Mine's better." Plopping back into his seat he starts the game up then sets it down on the table like an offering. Removing a cigarette from the pack in his other pocket, the redhead lit up. "Much better." He blew out a puff of smoke. "Wanna try?" Holding the white stick out to Near, he withdrew it when getting a disgruntled look as an answer. Holding the game he quietly amuses himself with Super Mario racing while waiting for word on the other side.

0 0 0

Light and Mello are in the kid's bedroom looking for hidden messages. But so far they're coming up empty.

_'Why would I move the bed?'_ Wondered Light as he stared at the altered piece of furniture. "Mello, can you leave the room then come in after about a couple seconds?"

Blinking as a bored response the addressed exits the bedroom then waits a moment before going back in. Tossing his hands out with enough force on the return to his sides they slapped audibly against his outer thigh, he asks. "Why are you under the bed?"

"I'm trying to get into the killer's mind."

_'There's a three-second task.'_ Mello rolled his eyes. "And?"

"Can you see me?" Light asked.

Walking the room, Mello looks at the bed during the short trip around. "Not right when you walk in, back here by the closet you're still pretty hidden." Crouching, Mello looks around the room from a child's height. "Now I see you completely." Straightening, he follows Light's thinking. "So the unsub spiked the drink, then came into the kid's bedroom and hid under the bed so he wouldn't be noticed right away. That's why the neighbor's kids heard them scream." He recalled what Matt told him when they got together at home. "The creep must have waited around the house the whole afternoon to when he killed them. That's some crazy kind of patience."

Nodding to agree, Light gestures a hand out to the door. "Go downstairs, I wanna test something."

Walking out of the room with Light, slow, but in tow, Mello stands at the landing looking up.

"Imagine that I'm dragging your kids down the stairs... What are you doing?" Light then added. "And remember, you've been drugged."

Mello tried to picture it. He's in the kitchen, but the kids' screams get him out of the kitchen and over by the stairs where he sees a stranger stomping down them. In a haze, he wants to scream, but effectively he can't. The killer is talking to him. Mello was so engrossed in the imagery that he didn't notice Light put his hand to his chest until he was tipping backward toward the armchair where he fell into it; because of that, Mrs. Talbott would become more dazed from being knocked off-balance and off her feet.

"Leave my kids alone," Mello muttered to the killer.

"Hn." Was Light's response.

From there he shoved the kids together before the mother, but then Light paused. Looking at the blood-soaked carpet, he then turned his head and looked at Mello, who looked back.

"When did you slit my wrist?" Asked the false-Mrs. Talbott.

"Right after I was sure your kids couldn't run."

"_Why_ did you slit my wrist?" He then asked.

Light grabbed his chin in thought. "Not for any reason, other than, to you keep quiet. You had to die for my purpose."

Staying in character, Mello growled. "After what you did to my kids, who would notice my mundane death?"

Getting out of character, Light comments. "You've got a point. All anyone can see is the mutilated children, it's human nature that your eyes would go to them and settle there. You wouldn't be able to take your eyes off the grisly sight compared to a woman sitting in a chair."

Both seemed to come to the realization at the same time. The killer was un-noticed and wanted desperately to be noticed. To become the bigger picture. Then that would mean... Mello got up from the armchair, and with help from Light, he pulled it over.

There, stuck into the back of the chair, is a knife. And a message.

0 0 0

It was no use. L can't concentrate over the sound of the bells. _Gong. Gong. Gong._ Ringing, ringing for a time that's not just up but already long since over. His parents. Quillish. The somber man stepped down from the swiveling chair, and he walked to the window where he now stands. With his back straight. With his legs straight at his full natural height. Out of the window, he stared up into the sky.

The drizzle began again after the short break it took during his and Light's arrival earlier; the reflection in the detective's eyes show what he's looking at. But inside, he's watching a memory. Of a day when it rained the same way.

It was many, many years ago. A 6-year-old boy left his run-in-the-mill school for home at warp speed. He wanted out of England's usual damp disposition and inside the house where he could indulge in the richest mug of hot chocolate he can dump down his throat. And maybe a few delicious cookies to go with it.

"Bye, Errol!" One of his male friend's called to him.

The boy, without looking, waved back. He ran quickly in-between this house and that, taking even the shortcut's shortcuts. Marshmallows big and puffy. Cocoa-rich and smooth. Whipped cream in an amount that couldn't possibly melt quickly not matter how hot the drink is. A warm hug in a porcelain container. And cookies. Errol's mother never made cookies that didn't melt in your mouth at any temperature. He'll have at least six.

But upon rounding the corner to his old victorian-model home, the young boy slowed his pace to a complete halt. In all his life living there, in all the days he's run home from school or even walked, he's never seen the front door left open. Touching a board on the white picket fence that runs along the sidewalk before all the homes on this street, the young boy looked around the area as if his hesitation to go in would produce his mother from a neighbor's home. She'd call him silly and tell him to go inside for the snack that's waiting. But she never came.

And something else was off... His father's car is in the lot. Errol's mind stilled of all thought, sound, even picture. Then it pushed everything out as he walked up to the ajar front door. His eyes skimmed the ruin spread all over the floor in a mess of white on the dark carpet. There were things missing, he could tell. Lamps, the television, the wares in the dining room. As his senses began to function, he next noticed the sound of the antique clock chiming over and over as if every millisecond was an hour that it had to ring. _Gong. Gong. Gong._

Logic told him not to call out, whoever broke in could still be lurking somewhere inside the home, ready to pounce on him for sneaking up on him because the boy was dumb enough to give himself away and charge around inside the home shouting. So he remained silent as he crept through the living room one soft step at a time, not about to be that dumb boy. Over the papers and broken porcelain, he ended up at the staircase. The home is dark enough that it doesn't have shadows anywhere away from a window. Guess what the hall is lacking? His path is dim almost blackish.

But he had to get up there. In case. In case, his parents were hurt but will live. In case, the people who broke in are still there and will need to be identified. In case, the people who broke in were hurting them and needed to be stopped. Grabbing a silver candlestick holder from the table beside the stairs, he held it at his side like he was carrying a knife; and one foot at a time he ascended the staircase. Errol isn't worried about the stairs creaking. The bones may be antique, but the guts are new and improved. It'll be years before these stairs give any movement away that isn't intentional.

The young boy glanced into his bedroom finding it just as assaulted as the living room and dining room with the missing cutlery and dishes that no one eats off of. He can still hear the clock's chimes ringing at his heart's pace as he walks farther down the hall to the master suit. The door is open slightly allowing only a small preview into the large bedroom. As he moved closer, hand reaching out to push the door open more, he paused. Listening carefully, he can't find a single human sound brush through the air. Even when the bedroom door tapped the wall the home remained silent, until he stepped inside...

The candlestick holder fell to the floor with a loud thump. Errol fell to his knees beside it, the sight of it all weakened him instantly. First that his father must have come home for lunch and fell victim to a bullet to the chest when discovering the break-in; his hands hit the floor and he slumped over to let tears fall when secondly seeing his mother cowered in the corner, nude from the waist down, and beaten so violently she's abstract.

And Errol screamed raw to break. Screaming that it wasn't fair. Screaming that he couldn't do anything! ...That he wasn't even given the chance.

The broken young boy let his mind go to a very deep, dark place where he then walled himself up. He walled himself up, not alone, but with every memory of his parents that he could remember great and small. And he sealed himself away there. Forever. So that when he crawled over to the bruises that used to be his family, he was sane enough to call the police. Sane enough not to tamper with any part of his parents that might hold clues as to who could have done this. Lastly, he was sane enough to leave his life and his home where it was, as the police showed up and brought with them social workers who informed him that everything was going to be all right.

Errol had never known that after two years of being a no one in an orphanage, the woman who'd reassured him was right. And in walked an older man with a kind smile and understanding eyes. He'd taken L by the hand and brought him back to life.

Quillish Wammy was more than a teacher. He was a mentor. A discipline. A friend. A father. A _There_. He opened the door in his soul that kept L apart from himself and the world, and he was there.

_'And now he's gone too. Just another person that I couldn't protect.'_ L thought somberly. _'I'd gone to him to say goodbye. I thought I would be the one to die.'_ The wet window reflected like tears on his face, thousands and thousands of tears. _'And all that remains...'_ L's left hand touched the watch Light loved to wear, it's hidden beneath his shirt sleeve.

He'd taken it from him on that day when he thought the young man was dead. Thinking he'd lost someone else he deemed important to him. Touching the watch gave him a bit of comfort, as he recalled that it's not necessary for him to wear it since Light is alive and well enough. But it sort of reminds him, more than the man, of what he almost lost and the somewhat lie that's been kept.

But even with the small peace, he has from having Light back in his life; emotionally, L stooped over by that window and once again he began to scream.

x x x

Commentary: I don't know what happened between chapter two and three but the read are up to 200. So thank you very much for reading this, I adore every single click you make. And sorry if this chapter was a little choppy but it took a minute to go past where I started typing. And sorry for mistakes and my piss-poor grammar. I swear I'm not doing it on purpose aha ha ha. And as always I'll go back and fix them if they violently show up when I skim it on the site.


	5. 1A1C3E1I2L1M1N2O1S3T

L's large eyes watched Near and Matt conversing about something that eventually caused them to laugh. He can't hear what they're saying because the microphone has been muted. Watching them get along always reminded him of when they were younger and would almost sneakily spend time with each other.

10 years earlier in Wammy's Home.

Matt was playing the game _Light's Out_ in the dark-wood hall close to the kitchen in the broad bay window area on the window seat, the floral cushion beneath his slight weight is unaligned with the wooden top since he's sitting on a slant. The strategy game was one of his favorite gifts from Christmas, actually. Seeing how many people live in the home it was always one gift per child. The burnt-haired boy didn't know what was in the packaging under the tree for him, he hadn't asked for anything because he didn't know what was out there as an option. With studies and only one TV in the home mixed of 38 kids and teens a couple young adults. His twelve-year-old attention span couldn't think beyond sports in the yard or a round of hide-n-seek, word games, and puzzles. But something personal just for him fell to the wayside.

Seeing a swath of white at his side, he greets the only person he knew it could be. "Hey, Near."

"If you're busy I'll leave." Replied the male, never good with greetings or other social graces yet. 6-year-olds tended to be like that.

"I'm on level 20," Matt says with excitement. "I think there are a hundred patterns to put out, but it auto-saves so, what'd you want?"

"I have a puzzle we can put together." He shook the box.

Taking it, he eyeballs the cover. "The jungle, how advanced." He chuckled.

Opening the box, he slides down from the window seat, jerking the cushion free so they can use the space for the puzzle. Matt's brow twitched when he dumped the pieces over and discovered that Near's been brandishing one of his little quirks again as all the puzzle pieces have been colored black with a _Sharpie_ marker. The kid really loved mental stimulation. It isn't any wonder that the world's greatest detective, L, has him selected in the top 3. Although... _he_, Matt, is third in line for the title so genius can be a sliding scale. At least a little.

Now _Mello_, he definitely deserved his spot on top, he worked for it and showed immense progress. And, more importantly, he possessed what Matt lacked which was a want for the title. Matt was just happy doing what was asked of him, while under an assumed name. All the rest was a kind of nerve-wreck. He'd make a much better back-up. Much better.

"Afraid you won't be able to do it?" Comments Near lifting the first piece scribbled on from the pile of 3,000 pieces.

It wasn't mocking, his words. Near was damned near incapable of that sort of thing, as well as bravado. He simply said what was on his mind no matter how kind or cruel- though most people don't usually have a problem with the kind just the unintended brutal honesty. Again, a kid quality. It always baffled Matt that the boy showed more maturity than even the young men in the school for the gifted, yet maintain enough innocence to play with toys. But then it seemed there was a method to all of the residences' madness. Some bit their nails, others talked to their self or rather a corner of the wall, some even liked breaking pencils. But not everything was a sort of extreme, just casual things for coping with the pressure or just thinking. Like eating a specific food or sleeping through class. The dozers always bugged him. They can't honestly hear a word the teacher is saying, but then their marks are always remarkable. How is that fair?!

Matt liked to while away exam tension with a good game of just about anything on his handheld. He'd like a fullscreen system but, again, when you live in a place with only one television you're limited the personal use of it.

"No, I can do it." He cracked his knuckles. "Just allow me my turn Rambo."

"You take half, I'll take half."

"Deal."

With a small smirk, Near adds. "And to keep it interesting there can be no picking up of another person's pieces. You have to know it belongs on your half."

"Done. Award?"

"Tonight's dessert is a butterscotch trifle, the winner gets the loser's dessert."

Matt gave a cocky scoff. "You're on."

Though he's a savory lad himself, he doesn't mind a good trifle. And Miss Plant makes them well enough to sell in the market. A silence fell over the game loving pair as they rummaged through the puzzle pieces to tackle the left side and right.

From a surveillance camera's monitor, L took a sip of his well-sugared and creamed coffee watching the pair with a small smile. It amazed him how the children got along sometimes. It actually amazed him that the children chose to interact with each other at all. He couldn't remember his childhood, but from what he could guess from his current state he wasn't a socialite.

The only person he doesn't recoil from is Quillish Wammy aliased as Watari. Even Roger Ruvie gets the brush off when he speaks to him directly. Though his interaction with the inhabitants of the household are often slim as Mr. Ruvie is not a fan of adolescents, so any snub may actually go missed on the man. But to see this sort of thing fascinated L. There was no hassle, no hurry. No hurt. The kids seemed to believe all this was some sort of game with an odd grand prize of the L code.

Back in his time, when there even was a time with the existence of A and B, the former L being Mr. Wammy himself, there was alienation and an almost cruelty. Though none of them ever really interacted with each other. It was unspoken. And it was intense. Until B befriended A. And it was just L on the outside.

Looking over at another screen he watched the children outside for a moment, they looked ready for another round of Stick-n-Go-Seek which was done with the hidden tapping something against the location of choose to call attention to a blindfolded seeker. It was an interesting skill-building method. The detective liked it. But as the game began his attention went back to the pair in the hall. The elite. He returned his attention to them, mostly because number two was creeping up to the pair.

Mello exhibited habits of _his_ generation. He loathed Near, that much was obvious. But does Near loathe him back? L hoped that if history repeated itself young Matt didn't end up with the same fate as A, though the child's laidback personality presented no such possibility of occurrence. A pale, long and slender forefinger came up to touch his bottom lip as he thoughtfully watched the trio.

"Come on, Matty, we're supposed to be investigating in the attic? _Remember_, case number 43?" Mello ignored Near entirely.

"Right, how could I have forgotten about that?" Getting up from the floor he took a hold of the dossier Mello held, it's actually filled with old tests the blond had taken last week. "Did you talk with Madam Desilva?" He asked as they were heading down the hall.

"Yeah, it's all in here." Replied Mello.

Near didn't even watch the two walk away, he just took a seat on the hard wooden outgrowth from the wall and finished his puzzle alone.

It wasn't the first time the detective has seen this sort of thing go on, and it wouldn't be the last. But he knows Near well enough, through observation, to acknowledge that the younger boy would be all right. The young boy's got his head in the game. Getting along with the other kids happens when it happens and doesn't when it doesn't. That sort of stability gets your far in their field, which is why Near is such an exemplary candidate as the next L.

"Watari?" He said to the man standing not far off behind him. "Place a special order for some puzzles, 10,000 pieces... Tell the company to make each one a different solid color, but place an L somewhere on it."

Quilish Wammy, who chose the alias Watari, smiled at the detective's line of thinking. Though he wondered if it could be seen as a form of coddling?

"I know what you're thinking, and you're wrong." L turned away from the monitors and stepped out of the chair.

"I never said a word." Though a smile crinkled his eyes rather than his lips.

L hummed a thoughtful intone to his reply. "Nnno, but you were thinking it."

"Let Roger take care of the children, he-.."

Cutting him off, L stuffed his hands into his pocket as he traveled over to the armchair where a cart of sweets resides. "Does not have their mental health in mind. He ensures they're still living and little else." Glancing at the cart before selecting a danish, he licks the icing before going on to say. "No one is at their best when their mind is at its worst."

"You are correct, L." Replied Watari. "I'll see that he gets the present." Smiling at his tiny jab at the detective's gentle method of care, he exited the room locking the door after himself.

"Presents. Care. Hmm... Mmm" He distracted himself with a mouthful of fruit jam. There was a first time for anything. L is only looking out for L after all. And the white haired child is on the path to that.

And it would seem so even in the present state that the young man strives to continue that path. L won't have the position forever, whether death does he part or usurp. All are welcomed to challenge him for the title right off the bat. But they need know that should they lose... They'd lose it all. Their place. Their code. Their victories and even failures. _All_.

L knew, though, that with Mello out of the house and not feeding Matt's antagonistic behavior towards Near, the downtrodden detective could enjoy the pairs' comradery as friends. Something that, in his later years, he actually found he wanted. He has so few and now one of them is dead...

He blinked from his train of thought when seeing that there seemed to be something going on other than messing around with each other while weeding through police reports for information that may become useful to them, a sort of break-through movement.

Turning off the monitor, he opened the screen for the internet. He wasn't going to interfere with their investigation, simply get back to his own. They seem on the right track now.

Meanwhile in the upstairs study...

Near's cool-dark gaze raised from the computer screen upon catching a glimpse of Matt coming alert from something that buzzed to him on his phone. He was going through the police reports and found that the women in the hotel had also been drugged, just as the Talbotts. At least these murders have one consistency. Matt, on the other hand, had been distracted playing a game on his handheld.

_'Whoever's doing this must either be a woman or a slight man. Normally a man doesn't need to use drugs to have his victims submit to him, size is usually everything when there's lack of a weapon present. But this unsub has to drug them, because even if there's a weapon a woman might not appear as much of a threat.'_ He looked up again when hearing a thoughtful intone come from the gamer.

"Did Rester send anything from your end?" He asked Near suddenly.

Blinking, he checked his e-mail then his phone. "Nothing. Not yet at least, why?" Getting up from his chair he moves over to Matt who's turned his phone to show Near the screen. "I think we have a clue."

Near eye-balled the screen and hated to admit he was confused by what he sees. But he's certain he won't be confused for long, ciphers are one of his specialties.

0 0 0

"I'm gonna need to see the other rooms, please." His tone was casual but the command was there as Rester spoke to the hotel manager.

"But there are people in those rooms." The man exclaimed with a bit of nervous panic.

"I have a warrant, and this is a police investigation." He held his hand out. "Give me access to the other rooms, now."

The manager smoothed some blond strands from his forehead, then, just as smoothly as he'd moved his hair, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the master key handing it to the agent. "Just... Please don't touch anything too noticeable. These people trust that when a room is locked it's locked."

Making a face, Rester all but rolled his eyes as he assured the man. "I'll keep that in mind." Unlocking the door he entered the room with the manager not far behind him as a sort of insurance to his clients.

The skittish manager was perplexed when all the agent did was give the room a quick glance before exiting and going into the next one. This one, however, wasn't empty of the borrowers and the coupling-couple shrieked and yelped when the two entered without their knowledge.

"I'm sorry," The manager fanned his hands in their direction, though his wide eyes refused to move from the site before them. "So sorry. Sorry."

The woman, who'd been sitting up when they'd walked in dropped forward to press herself against her lover only revealing more than her back and crack in the new position. The peeping manager had to swallow over a lump in his throat and a wetness in his mouth when the woman's exposure was revealed along with her anal hole; her lover's attachment to her slid away in the movement.

"Get out! Get out!" She hollered into the man's collarbone.

"Leave!" Shouted her lover, barely able to see who'd even come in around the shrieking, embarrassed woman.

Rester had to snag the man's shoulder and drag him out as it seemed he was trapped in a bear-trap. "That wasn't very discreet." He told the man who'd made a point of telling him not to piss off the residences.

"Sorry. I couldn't look away. The beauty of a woman I'm afraid."

Rester glared at the man and walked to the last room, knocking first he then stuck the key into the lock opening the door. His buzzing phone caught his attention and he yanked it from his pocket. "Hello?"

"Rester, check the room where the victims were. Light says the less obvious deaths are where the clue should be. Check around behind the furniture." Came Near's voice down the line.

"Yes, sir. We were just about to go into room three." He opened the door and looked around.

As he'd figured. All the rooms on the floor are arranged in the same way except for room 4 where everything had been moved to the opposite side. Near told him to go to the spot where the less noticeable victims were- whatever that meant. Removing the photo of the victims from a folder in his satchel, he held it up to match the room. The manager, who'd looked over his shoulder turned white and looked away. He'd made it a point not to watch the news or even hear what happened from the chatty staff as he worked around the hotel or sat in his office while they were passing outside his door. He hates blood. It's next to impossible for the hospital to get blood samples from him.

_'The women on the bed were sliced from ribcage to vaginal entrance. It's hard to look away when you see something like that The women on the chaise were strangled. So the killer must have left the clue over there somewhere.'_ Walking over to the couch he moved it.

The chaise was slid back from the wall but he found nothing. The siding held nothing as well. Pulling the couch forward a bit more he then tipped it over but there was nothing. Perplexed he checked the bed to be sure. The hotel has been instructed not to allow vacancy to anyone until the clean-up crew came along to remove the evidence from the room. So nothing's been touched outside of officers and the Scene of Crime crew working through it. There were no clues on the bed that he could see. Setting down his satchel he removed a small box, and from it took out a pair of gloves which he put on, and a bottle of clear liquid along with a long flashlight.

"Can you close the curtains for me?" He asked the manager.

"S- sure." He hastily closed the curtains, secretly thankful to do so as his eyes went directly for his shattered nerves kryptonite. The blood soaking into the bed.

Rester turned on the bar-flashlight running it over the chaise's leather upholstery. A minute later he sent a text message to his boss.

0 0 0

"Let's talk to Quimby," Mello instructs Light as if the passenger had a choice of their destination once inside the car. "He should be home by no-..."

His words trailed into a pause when a colorful blur ducked from his vision, it wasn't the first time he's seen this since their entering the home, right around the time he'd sent the photo and text to Matt.

"Did you see that?"

Looking in the direction Mello's head is turned with a few glances at the location then the ex-mob leader, Light replied. "No. What?"

"It looked like someone was watching us." He took off at a strong pace after the Peeping-Tom. "Hey! Stop!" He called to the person who kept running as fast as their little legs could carry them.

But with longer legs Mello and Light were considerably faster. He just hoped the brat didn't dodge them by darting into the street, he wasn't going to have the death of a startled kid on his conscience.

"Gotcha!"

The little runner yelped when a hand landed on her shoulder, but when seeing who'd grabbed her the yelp turned into a full-on scream which her pursuer covered with his gloved hand. Mello rolled his eyes at the reaction she was taking, obviously, because of his face. He was used to the curious stares. But screaming, he had to admit, that was a new one.

"Ssshh shhh, hey it's okay." Light said to soothe the girl, even going as far as rubbing her upper arm in a slow calming manner. "He may look like the villain, but Mello's as gentle as his name."

Seeming to calm down almost in an instant, the little girl runs a hand down her dry-eyed face and says rather brashly. "Oy, what kind offa name is Mello for a person?"

"Never mind that, why were you spying on us?" Asked Mello. "I saw you wandering the street when we arrived and I'm positive it was you peeking through the window at one point, so spill it."

"Do you have to be so 'tough guy'?" Light complained over his shoulder. "She's just a kid."

"I'm _niiine_, smart-guy." Informed the girl, all but pouting and stamping her foot.

"That's a wise age," Replied Light trying not to get snippy with her himself. So much for the shy and panicked routine as she seems pretty put together now. "Did you wanna talk to us about something? Maybe something you saw that happened at the Talbott home?"

The little girl actually had the nerve to cock an eye at him, before asking. "Depends, are you looters?"

Brow furrowed over the sudden change in subject, and her blatant attitude, Light shook his head and with a handsome smile replied. "We're not looters; we're actually working to solve the crime of who killed the Talbott family."

"I didn't see what happened to Jimmy or Lexie or their mum,"

That was obvious. Had she seen the act did? Chances were she'd be institutionalized from the sheer violence alone brought to the twins if she had. Then there's the fact that, if she hadn't gone catatonic, the police would have questioned her.

"But there was a strange man in the neighborhood the day before it happened."

Light and Mello gave each other a glance before giving full attention to the young girl. "Do you remember what he looked like? Can you tell us?" He kept the urgency from his tone, trying to sound more conversational so the child doesn't get worked up.

"Where's your uniforms?" Asked the girl getting off track again as she looked over their attire as though she were ready to cry "looters" at the top of her lungs until another thought came to her having her wonder. "Are you maybe like F.B.I?"

"That's it exactly!" Agreed Light. "We're with the .F.B.I! And it's your job as a witness to report what you've seen and what you know. It could help solve the case. You do want that, don't you?"

The little girl seemed to be thinking it over like there was a serious choice to be made.

Trying a different strategy, Light smiled sweetly then said. "My name is..." He can just feel Mello smiling behind him over having to use it in public and with a girl who's already comfortable with calling you "creep" to your face. But with a grit of his teeth, he managed to squeeze it out. "Is Legal."

"_Legal_?!" Her brows were practically at her hairline. But he was spared of any further comment, the disbelief seemed to be enough to make her point.

Continuing with being polite he goes on. "And what's yours?"

"Amanda Goffe. Nice to meet you." She smiled with some missing bottom teeth.

"Same here." He shook her hand. "Amanda, it really is important that if you remember what the man who was in the neighborhood looks like, that you tell us."

"He was tall,"

"Give me an estimate," Light stood beside Mello. "Taller than me or Mello?"

"Taller than both of you. I think a couple inches taller than you." She points to Light.

"Good, good. And what else can you remember?" He returned to his kneeled position before her.

"He had on a suit, like Thin Man, and a tall hat as well... Or was it smooshed?" She bit her bottom lip to try to recall the man. "Umm, it was like this," She used her finger to draw what the hat looked like in the air. As she'd muddled through, the hat looked tall but small then she drew a circle around it for a brim, if the pair had to guess. "He was wearing a spooky-looking mask too," a broad grin spread across her face as she knew how clever she'd been at that time. "But I could see past the trim, I think he might be black because his skin under the mask was brown, and his eyes were hazel- mostly the light brown kind." Looking back and forth from Light to Mello she asked. "Does that help?"

"Greatly," replied Light. "Thank you, Amanda."

"What kind of mask was it? Like one of those cheap plastic ones or was it more like a latex?" Inquired the blond investigator.

"It was Frankenstein, it was painted white and the bolts in the neck were cut out, but I could tell it was a Frankenstein mask." A thoughtful expression came on her face. "I thought he was going to a costume party."

Mello didn't think they still sold Frankenstein masks in the day and age. Everyone wants to be ghost face killer or Michael Meyers. But then again, it's been a long time since he's been a little boy from Staraya Basmannaya in Moscow Trick-or-Treating around the apartments.

"He came right up to me and asked the strangest question... He asked "who lives in this house?" right, but he'd pointed at the neighbor's house next to Jimmy and Alexa's. When I told him _then_ he asked about their house." She wet her lips as if talking for so long had dried them out. "He asked if the twins lived there and I'd told him "yes, Lex and Jim"." Her expression became thoughtful. "Weird he knew about the twins but not what house they lived in, now that I think about it."

Mello knelt down and spoke kindly to the girl in order to be answered. It seemed to work for Light. "And you're sure that was the conversation you had with the man?"

"Uh-huh. I've never had anyone ask me something like that before, so it stuck with me because it was that weird. His accent was weird too, he put an 'h' before 'and'."

That's just what he and Matt heard from the neighbor, that the man had a strange accent. He must not be a native Londoner, but he's trying to fake the accent. Brought out of his thoughts by the sudden movement, Mello stared at Amanda when she held out her hand, palm up. Light was just as confused, then it came to them almost at the same time that she was looking for some sort of compensation for the information.

Grinning falsely; through his teeth, Light says "Mello, pay the girl." as he straightened up to stand.

Glaring bitterly, Mello replied. "Right." Reaching into his jacket pocket he removed a few silver coins. "White chocolate cool with you?"

But damn did he hate to have to give up his afternoon snack, although, the bag of coins is mixed chocolates and frankly he doesn't care for white chocolate. So it was no great loss, he's just lucky when he reached in and pulled some out the majority was silver coins instead of gold or copper.

Eagerly swaying the little girl says. "Yes, thanks." Accepting the chocolate, she then says. "And I'd like five dollars too, please."

"Of course." Sneered the male, dropping a five-spot in the girl's palm. That was the change he had from buying a bag of chocolate on the way over. Mello usually never carries small bills. Not after his L.A. life. Money meant power and status. And after obtaining those to acquire his crew, he didn't want to look back to the scraping days of how he had to get it.

Looking at the American dollar bill, she asked. "What is this?"

But they were already heading back the way they came.

In the car, Light's looking over the clue left by their murderer. "What do you make of it? Do you think the girl's a credible witness? It was more than a week ago that the family was killed, she could have forgotten something or added something. Especially if she'd been afraid of the guy, it's not usual for men to wear monster masks and top hats. Maybe she changed what she saw around a bit."

"It's the best thing we've got so far. And it _is _strange that the guy knew about the twins while having no clue which home they lived in. He must have been in the neighborhood and seen them."

With a thoughtful frown on his face, Light mumbled. "I'd hate to think this creep is targeting twins, that really is too broad a scale for getting one step ahead of him with whom the next victim will be."

Mello turned the car to the next street headed for the journalist's home. The rain let up for like ten minutes but as the car rounded another corner it came back with a lot more gusto than the drizzle earlier. The driver was about to say "fuck Quimby" and take them home. He doesn't wanna be out in this downpour.

But there's a long-winded wait out if they solved crimes on fair weather days- especially in London- they'd never get anywhere. Parking right up on the building was such a lucky break, he had to wonder if they'd just lucked-out by something this mediocre, as he climbed from the car.

Light, who'd been studying the clue, hesitated before exiting the car. It wasn't that he cared about getting wet, but that he'd have to ride home on a wet seat if he got drenched. Using his hands as a cheap shield, he followed Mello up the stairs to the man's front door.

0 0 0

"It's raining again," Matt says after his attention left the liquid spotted window.

"Way to set sail Captain Obvious." Replied Near without looking up from the sheet of paper on the desk in front of him. Offering the situation a fed-up sigh through his nostrils, Near very calmly states. "I can't make any sense of this, can you?"

"Gimme yours and you can see mine." Handing him the paper over the backing of the computer desk he takes Near's as it comes over. "Jesus, your's is longer than mine."

"I've tried the shift unless the word is in a foreign language, it isn't a Caesar."

"Same here. I even went backward." Matt's gaze shifted to the blue and black block at the right of his vision, and from this glance, he produced the hand-held he'd set aside after Mello's text. "Maybe it _is_ in a foreign language with their alphabet."

"What language is D.G.I.N or F.I.N.N.P?" With Tetris fired up in the system, Matt began stacking and clearing blocks from inside a rectangular box, while he thought about the ciphers. His little Matt avatar danced merrily off at the top right corner whenever he got a Tetris and cleared the room or a chunk of it.

"I don't know. I've only fluently learned 67 languages myself."

Matt scoffed at that being said as if it were a task of ease. He's only mastered about 38. He wasn't sure how Mello was doing, the blond never spoke about the off-hand studies from their job as detectives. If he's even continued studying once he left the house. In prison, Matt really didn't have much else to do but expand his mind.

"Maybe it isn't a shift at all... Maybe the letters or numbers are just to throw us off," Hearing the message indicator sound on his screen, Near glanced down at the mail in his inbox. "Looks like a couple more people have just bought me."

Had the young boy said that to a stranger, they'd swaddle the poor dear and ask him to use a doll as an example of how he was hurt. But Matt only gave an intoned "hunh" Near's main profession of focus when helping the police is in serious crimes against minors, and he often helps the police with online bullying that's more severe than a couple names being called, and pedophilia cases by posing as a customer. He'll flirt with these men, send pictures of himself in makeup and costume to disguise himself. And through this he would help the police nail these idiots the minute they agree to meet up with him. And they're usually beyond eager, especially when he shows off make-up job bruises.

After contacting the police for that area with the location they should move to, Near got up from his seat. "I'm gonna ask L, he may know." Holding out his hand for Matt's sheet of paper, that was originally his, he takes both of them up the stairs with him to the detective's room.

"L?" He knocked on the door.

"Come in." Came the voice from within the room.

Near entered the room coming to a pause in motion when spotting L in a handstand with his legs folded Indian-style. "Meditation?" He inquired as a possible explanation.

"Yes." Was the nonchalant reply. "Is there something you wanted?"

"You know more languages than either Matt or myself, will you look this over for us?" Near waited for the detective to right himself before handing off the slips of paper they've written all over with possibilities of what the message could say. "We're not looking for the answer, just a need to know if it's in another language?"

"Hn... Mhmm... 'Dign' in latin is 'worthfly', but does that make sense to you as a message?" He hummed thoughtfully looking over the other letters and numbers. "The other word has a letter in it that shouldn't be there. If it's without the 'P'"

"Then it'd be 'feel' in Icelandic, which makes no sense. But if it's Norwegian it'd be 'find'. '...Find Worthfly...'. But that's only an assumption of having to drop the letter. And if that's the case, then there would have to be a letter missing in the first message as well."

"Does that help you?" Asked L standing from his crouched position.

"It may have..." Though his finger played thoroughly in a lock of his hair as he wondered if this 'Worthfly' was their next victim. "There's also the possibility that D.G.I.N. is 'thought' like in Romanian."

"In Cebuano, it would be 'to' if you removed the 'D'."

"This is frustrating." Near closed his eyes and upon opening them he locked eyes with the detective. "L... About Kira-"

Cutting off his next word, L quickly corrects him by saying. "Light Yagami."

"You can call him that on the surface, but we both know that Kira's still lurking just beneath it. What do you think he's gonna do once he gets his memory back?"

"_If_, Near, _if_ he gets his memory back. ...If that should happen, then it will be addressed accordingly."

"Even when you have feelings for him?"

The statement from the younger male hung there like a boat on the sea. And in the fierce battle of the gazes, Near felt himself on that boat in the middle of a very choppy ocean, and the tide was dragging him in towards a very rocky shore in L's gaze. But then slowly, little by little the waves began to calm and almost lulled him back out to sea and away from danger as L put on a neutral expression then looked away.

Feeling the ground dry up and harden, Near pressed on. "People don't change, L. They're more likely to repay a discretion or slight they've endured by you than they are to realize what they owe to someone in kindness. Your care and kindness is wasted on him because all he sees is his goal and the obstacles detaining him from them. He doesn't care if you laughed together, or shared similarities or something. He'll want his revenge... His envisioned world."

L listened to Near's words then nodded. "Near, there's something to be said about change, of how and why it's possible."

Brow raised in curiosity, he remained silent as the detective went on.

"38 percent of the world doesn't change, not in the positive perspective, and the root of that lack of change stems from the reason to change." The detective held his hand out palm up as if his words were taking life there in the center for his successor to see. "People can only fully change in the eyes of the person or persons they're changing for. Change isn't singularly based. Most things in life aren't. If you continue to see Kira, he will be Kira... _You_ are keeping him that way. Not the rearranged events from his time as a serial killer creeping around in his mind."

"But..."

"I've never said I trusted the Shinigami, nor what direction he's steered Light's mind. But I'm prepared to deal with the cracks. As well as Kira." Placing a hand on the younger male's shoulder, he looked him dead in the eyes and says quietly. "Your only job is to realize that Light is Light, Kira is Kira... You must find a way to separate the two." Removing his hold, he says very firmly. "Or leave."

L's black gaze held Near's neutral charcoal and for a moment Near thought of leaving- not the home as L had meant, but the room. Though, he does not. He remained where he stood, and with a firm tone of his own he states.

"He's cunning, he'll trick you."

"I'm aware of Kira's behavior more so than I am of Light Yagami's." Hands stuff into his pockets, and he cocked his head thoughtfully to one side. "I have more at stake to lose this time than just a case or my life. I have all of you... And even if I lose my life, I won't let you lose yours'... I'll stop Kira at any cost. I won't hesitate to bring him down."

Near felt a tightness in his chest. He's never had anyone declare a safety net for him in any way shape or form. Protocol safety from the police while on the job is one thing, but this is offered from someone who owes him nothing. Given to him without a need or ask.

"You were right when you said things can't go one way. You will never be alone with Kira ever again... We lost ourselves when we'd thought we'd lost you. We're not going to let that happen again... Not from Kira's hands. Whether you want us to be or not, we're here for you as well."

L's gaze shifted to the ceiling and then he looked down at the teen. "Thank you. It's humbling to be looked down upon by someone younger than yourself. But we keep making monumentally bad decisions, don't we? Light for using the killer notebook; me for holding on to a mass murderer and even caring for him."

"At least you know my plight." Near joked to ease the sadness in L's voice.

"Yes, I do. But I can assure you, I'm no longer blinded by the things I want nor am I closing my eyes to the way things are. Should Light's memories of being Kira return, should Kira return... I'll put an end to him myself- that I can promise you." Biting his thumb, he says softly as though his words gave him some sort of shame. "I know none of you know me, but you have to trust me that I know what I'm doing."

Nodding, Near turned and walked to the door. "Thanks for the help with this,"

"If it is a help." Commented the detective.

With a small smirk, Near says. "You really aren't alone with this. _Trust _can't go one way either. Trust us too." That said he walked out of the room closing the door.

L stared after Near's departure, returning to his computer desk he leaned his weight onto the chair by holding onto the back of it. He stared at the male's favorite watch wrapped around his wrist. Touching it he whispered to the time-piece.

"And when he fell, it was like that of Lucifer." But could the fallen angel repent?

Near expelled a sigh from his mouth when he walked away from the room. It was still weird being able to see L beyond the screen and to even, it seems, be given a chance to get to know him as a person. As limited as talking about themselves is for people in their positions.

Returning to the study, he dropped the paper before Matt, and taking his seat he says. "Find Worthfly."

"Sorry, that tried to sound like English but I've got earbuds in and..." Matt shrugged his hand.

Hating to repeat himself, he says. "If the words are in a foreign language it would amount to 'Find Worthfly'."

"Okay. That sounds like a name to me, a command too. What d'ya say we find Worthfly?" He snickered. "That can't really be a name."

"It's unusual, I'll admit that... But this Worthfly could be our next victim."

Forgetting level 17, Matt typed the name into a search engine of his own design. "Are you seeing this?" He asked Near, whose fingers sound like they're also on the move. "It's a club for dudes who like to fly fish."

"It could mean anything if that's the case." Near clicked on the website. "Maybe one of the members is a twin."

"Or maybe the next vic'll be around water. England's gagging on a length of river water. The Thames itself is already swimming with bodies on a regular basis, and that's from accidents or suicides."

"It wouldn't hurt to alert the river police." Near got up from his seat, lifting the laptop to bring along with him as he changes seats to sit beside Matt. "L says he knows what he's doing in regards to Kira. He said he doesn't need our help, but I wasn't offering it. He doesn't get a choice in the matter." Turning his gaze on him, he asks. "Matt, if Light reverts back to Kira you'll help with protecting L, won't you?"

Matt nodded somberly. "After what he's done, he'd better have my name down to the actual time I was put on record during birth, to keep me from killing him."

Near was glad for the back-up. And he was sure Mello felt the same way. Deep down he knew L's words were right. He will always see Light Yagami as Kira. Kira! Who'd had a larger God complex than people who go to worship and cry 'Sinner' if you don't. The creep that almost took away everyone he's held dear since he was 3, and adopted into Wammy's home. They may not have always been close, but he damn sure cares about each and every one of them, and he won't let anything _unnatural_ as death by a killer notebook come between that. He still gets an urge for cocoa whenever he misses his blond rival or any kind of sweet on hand for L. And he'd never admit it to Matt but he does do a little gaming on some occasions. Not often, but some.

_'And now a case that should have been closed,_ _the nightmare killer that should have been __ended__ that day... is living under the same roof as us.′_Shaking his head Near shifts his thinking._ 'L knows what he's doing. L knows what he's doing.'_ He tried to assure himself.

Refocused, Near begins working on a few other cases he had waiting in the wings now that the police have arrested a few men for possession of child pornography and the attempt to purchase. He also needs to log information on this more current case into a folder. He can get Gevanni to work out the details of further research.

"I feel sorry for Mel', out there with that prick. Wouldn't it be weird if the letters were words, they are in caps? It could be acronyms or initialism," Matt blinked before his face fell into a thoughtful expression. "Near, who's laptop is this?" He points to the one the younger male is using.

"Gevanni's. Why?"

"The arrow just moved on its own, I think someone's hacked him."

"What?" Getting up from the chair due to Matt scooting over into his seat, practically onto his lap, as Near didn't see him coming as fast as the male moved, but he managed to get out of the way before he became part of the furniture. "Are you sure?"

"Unless you've gained psychic powers in the last twenty seconds, I definitely saw the arrow move without human contact." When a separate screen popped up, he muttered to himself. "There we go."

"What? What are you doing?"

"Someone wants to know what we're doing, I say we lead them into a trap." When the flash of Matt's laptop screen caught his eye he swapped back to his laptop and asked Near to get back on Gevanni's and behave as though he's working on the case. "While he follows you, I'll follow him."

"Okay."

It became like a moving maze between the three possibly more. When Near would search a file the hacker would swap screens on him then the file would blink back and disappear from Matt tunneling in behind them and blocking them inside. It was a chase of open, close, open, close. Then the screen on Gevanni's laptop blinked and a search engine popped up.

"Fast as you can, in all caps, type in 'EVE' then press enter."

Near does as instructed and the screen flashed for what would be the last time, bringing up a screen with a CGI, semi-nude mutated woman who's laughing, before the laptop shut itself down then rebooted.

"Tetris," Matt said with a snicker. "Well, that was an annoying twenty minutes." Though it seemed like he'd actually enjoyed it. "Wonder what the hell he was looking for?"

"Maybe he was trying to see if we were working the case. We have kept the media from knowing what's been going on as far as it being serial killings. He might think we're ignoring him."

"Hn. Well, whatever the cry baby was doing he won't be using his computer for a long time if he thinks he can get rid of that virus." Getting up he stretched his arms over his head. "I'll program one for Gevanni's laptop since the dick got in through his. Where were you last?"

"I went into the police files to get information on the women's backgrounds. Rester e-mailed me that the family's interviews have been filed."

"That'll do it, he probably detoured on accident and found his way into Gevanni's laptop." Taking said laptop, he traded his to Near to use until he was done with the viral program. "If this guy can hack into Cop's files, he really might become more of a threat if he thinks no one is receiving his cry for attention."

"Yeah, he may really kill Quimby if he finds him useless towards his fame."

...

Mello knocked on the man's door. When no answer came he took a lock-pick from his pocket then worked it into the knob. But when he pushed the door open it stopped up on the chain.

"Quimby!"

The man yelped and fell from the chair at his computer desk. Crawling along the floor so as not to be seen when the door was kicked open, popping the restricting chain; the homeowner got to his feet so quickly he popped his shoulder painfully against the coffee table.

"Ow-hoo hoo!" Cried the man holding his ache as he ducked into his bedroom.

"Idiot." Snipped Mello as he traipsed to the man's bedroom door. "Quimby, it's Mello. Come on out."

"H-how do I know you're telling the truth?" Quimby sniveled from inside the safety of his bedroom. "Who just barges into someone's house like that?"

"You didn't come to the door," Mello spoke through the door.

"You didn't give me a chance to hear you, I was busy."

"I need to talk to you, come out."

"No! I still can't trust that you are who you say you are." Quimby sounded further away from the door. "A fine week I'm having, can't even trust that I'm safe in my own house. I'm being drugged and taken to Inns, people are picking the lock to my front door."

The pair outside the door watch as a mirror came sliding from beneath the crack under the doorway. Crouching down, Mello smiled at his reflection then said "Boo!" to the trembling man holding it. The mirror lowered from its slant then slid back into the room and seconds later the door pulled open.

"Next time ring the bell." States the man more at ease now that he knows it's not the Big Bad Wolf. He eyed Light, but what he was thoughts of him were unclear. He returned to the living room at his computer desk. "Seems I'm annoying my boss with these little vacations I've been taking; the prick can't seem to get it in his head that I'm not doing this on purpose."

"My heart bleeds for you," Mumbled Mello before taking a seat on the sofa, diving into his questioning. "Mr. Quimby, we need for you to think back to each time you were abducted, on either occasion did you see the man- even at a glimpse?"

"Somewhat. This morning or last night... Whenever I was put in the hotel." Seated at the computer, he ignores his e-mail to speak to the two men. This whole thing was becoming one big horrible blur to him, and he wished the nightmare would stop. But every time he got comfortable, he'd be abducted again. "I've told all this to the police, you know? I thought you guys were working with them?"

"We're more of a private firm." Explained Mello. "But that's not important right now. Just tell me what you saw, walk me through this morning."

Closing his eyes he sucked in a breath, held it for a moment then let it out as he spoke. "I woke up in bed next to these two women, I was sandwiched between them. I put my hand out to get up but it slid..." The journalist looked spooked by his own words. "God there was so much blood." He looked at his hands as if the blood might still be there. "I eventually found my way to the door, but I wasn't facing forward. So when I hit the door I actually hit a pair of boots- combat boots."

It annoyed Mello that the man hit a lot more than that, his panicked movements contaminated the entire crime scene, not to mention if the women had been posed he'd knocked them from it while escaping in fear.

"He looked like a funeral director with that long black jacket, but... I don't know, when I saw him it was very brief. But it looked like he was wearing a suit and tie with the coat over it."

Mello wanted to ask if it was like 'Thin Man' as Amanda Goffe had said, but he didn't want to put images in the man's head. At least this is a good confirmation to what she'd said.

Quimby kept glancing at Light as he described the man. Mello soon began to realize that the journalist is probably wondering who the new face is because Light certainly isn't Matt. Introductions could come later, right now they need this information, not acknowledgments.

"He was very pale... it was strange like his skin didn't fit." He thought back to the moment he'd bumped into the man, and how the man had leaned over him and very bluntly knocked him out again. "I think he was wearing a mask, his face was a little too placid, if that makes any sense."

"Anything else?" Light asked finally speaking.

This only caused Quimby to give him an even longer stare before he answered. "Yeah, yeah he had on a hat. It looked like a top hat, but the brimming was a little more relaxed... I think..." He shook his head to clear the smog blocking the hat, just to end up shrugging.

"Thanks for the help, it was useful." Replied Mello.

"You're welcome." He stood and shook the agent's hand then Light's. "A rookie?" He wondered out loud since it seemed Mello wasn't going to introduce his new partner.

"Something like that. I'm Legal."

"Such strange names they're giving people these days. I suppose next the name Plumb will be like nothing." He released Light's hand. "I'm Ellis Quimby with the London paper, _The Mirror_. You may remember seeing my name under such articles as 'I'm being targeted by a psychopath or Afraid to sleep because a nut might get me."

"Joking aside, Mr. Quimby. Your situation may be worse than you'd thought." Informed Light.

Looking grim on the fly, the man's nervously widened eyes go from Light to Mello. "Meaning?"

Mello swung his arm out giving Light the floor since he started the conversation.

"Meaning, we think this unsub wants attention. He craves it because he feels invisible."

Confused and a little angered, he asked. "What has that got to do with me?"

"We think he's using you as a means to become famous. You're a journalist, after all, so you can tell his story to the world."

"I can tell it... Why me?"

"We think that if it's not you, it would be any other member of your paper, able to get it out there about what he's doing." Light hesitated, but he knew there was no way to be kind with his next words, so he may as well get them out. "We also believe that if you fail to do as this guy wants, he will kill you" Quimby crumpled back into the seat he'd stood from. Deflated. Frightened. As Light was finishing what he was saying. "And move on to someone else."

"Had I just gone straight home that evening, but I had to stick around..." Quimby muttered to his lap. "Is that my only option? Write about this asshole or die?" He looked up then, showing off some worried tears that haven't yet slid free.

"There's a really good chance that we'll catch him before anything happens to you, or anyone else." Assured Light. "For now just play along. If this guy is breaking into your home then he may just leave you alone if he sees that you're doing as he wants."

"How do I do something like that?"

Light caused the man to lean away when he approached so suddenly, making for his computer. "You just have to open a draft and begin typing a story. Make it like a book or an article, anything that'll appease to him. Just leave the computer turned on so if he sneaks in, he'll see it."

"I see... What if he doesn't just leave, what if he takes me anyway?"

"At least you know you'll be fine, as long as you keep him happy..." He couldn't say he hoped. Because he honestly doesn't know what this freak wants with Quimby. But attention may be a start.

"Fine he says. Tell that to my medical bills every time this guy smacks me over the head." Looking at the blank document page on the screen, he sighed. "I can do it."

"Good." Light smiled at the man. "We'll have an officer stationed outside of your home so if anyone shows up he'll be there."

Mello wondered when that became a decision that Light could make. But he knew it was what had to be done. Chances are he'd be seeing a cop before they even made it back to the manor.

"At least there's that. Now I can relax... For a while anyway." Though he still looked uneasy. Not to mention he was giving an even blanker expression than the screen he was looking at.

"You'll figure it out." Mello comments when seeing nothing but a letter come up on the screen before the man slumped back in on himself. Seeing Light get off his phone, he walked over to him and whispered. "Let's get out of here when the cop shows up."

"Yeah. He doesn't seem assured at all that he'll be fine."

Looking at Quimby, Light wonders if they could simply use a plant. But he doubted it. This guy managed to slip drugs to people in broad daylight. Chances are he wouldn't be led astray by a guy posing as Quimby, not to mention if he sees that the guy isn't him, the plant might be killed out spite. No. Better Quimby participate until this guy is caught.

It was a ten-minute wait over tea before the cop arrived to relieve the two of their unplanned babysitting gig. In the time they were having tea, Quimby drank his and stared at the computer screen, unsure of what to write. How to write it. After all, he knows nothing about the person doing this, aside from the fact that he continues to get brought into it. But maybe...

_The Mirror Murders_

_by_

_Ellis Quimby_

He smiled at what he'd done so far. It was a pretty good start if he could say so himself. But what else? He's never written a story before. He's only snipped lengthy stories in half to make articles.

"I know."

_It was a day like any other day..._

x x x

Commentary: This took so long to type because I was feeling like absolute shit for weeks, my sides are still burning. But, I'm chipper~ish ahaha. I may have sentences that don't make sense at all, I hope not because I went over it but you never know what you'll miss. So I'll fix it if I see it once it's posted. I hope you've enjoyed it.

Thank you for reading it and reviewing or favoriting it or me. I appreciate it every time. If you'd like to try the cypher it's in this chapter's title and you'll know the answer in the next chapter. Now I'm gonna take it easy and watch Ghost Adventures and just chill.


	6. Rest

Mello shoved the car door open and stepped out with such a huff, even the house knew the former mafia leader was pissed- and it's not even alive! The blond couldn't figure out what was pissing him off so much: was it that they were getting nowhere in the case? That he was paired with Light to investigate? Or that he was simply over it for the time being? It was hard to say. Closing the door with more force than was necessary; Mello had to do a double-take from one of the unoccupied cars. He thought he saw someone sitting in the backseat.

When Light's door closed causing the overhead lighting to bounce off many of the reflective surfaces in the room, namely the windshield of the car Mello was looking at, the former detective figured it was a trick of the light. Although, it was a very old home; and has seen its share of the living and dead. It was possible it could actually be haunted. If there could be Shinigami in the world, there can certainly be ghost too.

There was a shuffling sound coming from the garage before an angry Mello burst through the door into the home, where he then bounded his way down the hall towards the kitchen, Light in tow. The new agent figured they'd discuss the case, until he saw Mello grab a glass from the shelf, the jug of milk from the refrigerator, then two syrups from the pantry. One a Hershey's and the other a Nestle's.

With a smirk, Light exited the kitchen in wonder if that was what Mello considered 'having a double-shot' of something?

Walking the hall, he then hurried up the stairs to his and L's suit. There were sounds of life in a couple rooms where the doors were open, that could only be Matt and Near or possibly Gevanni. It could even be the help. But when reaching his destination, he listened to the door before going inside. He could hear nothing beyond the door. Curious as to why there weren't even sounds of pleasure from L indulging in a snack, Light raised his fist and knocked.

"L?" He called through the wooden obstruction.

"Just a minute, I'm building a tower." Came the disembodied voice of the detective.

Light waited outside of the door for L to move his current tower, or to secure it well enough that he could open the door without it falling over, but when four minutes passed and there were zero sounds of life going on beyond the door again, Light knocked twice before cracking the door and poking his head in to look around the obstruction; expecting to see a mess of toy houses and skyscrapers littered everywhere, he was baffled that he didn't see so much as a box containing the materials to build something. A very peeved Light entered the suit.

L turned in his chair at the computer desk. His large eyes were made even larger by the surprise in them over Light walking in. The detective was frozen, with his mouth open as wide his jaws would allow; and between his fingers, raised just over his chompers was a mutated Oreo cookie with enough cream for several rows of smaller cookies. The cream must have been scraped from others to have it towering between the chocolate ends.

L looked like an escapee from Sesame Street, or in pose for a new puppet to be made from his likeness. And the blue shirt the man is sporting wasn't keeping Cookie Monster that far from onlookers mind.

Light's brow twitched in agitation. "I thought you said you were building a tower?"

There was the slightest sway of L's wrist to indicate that he was, in fact, building a tower. Several it seemed, because there's a plate on the desk that was loaded with mutant snacks. Light would have wondered where he got so much cream when each bag only has three rows of cookies, but, knowing L, he had a servant whip some up for him to use.

Lowering half the cookie into his mouth, L bit it away from the upper end; the icing left behind somehow held itself against the top cookie now supported between pinched fingers. "Sorry. I thought you'd left when I didn't come to open the door."

"Why would you open the door?" He took a seat on the bed, removing his sneakers.

"Why would you knock?" Replied L in his logic. "I thought you had something in your hands and needed me to get the door for you." A smirk spread across his lips. "You stood in the hall for minutes thinking the room was cluttered? That must have been awkward." He then popped the other half of the sweet into his mouth. Speaking around the mouthful, he asked. "To make up for it, you can have the biggest stack." The plate was lifted from the desk and held out to Light.

"I'll pass." His gaze looked out the window at the view of the sky. Looked like rain. Again. It went off and on with light drizzles since he and Mello had left Quimby's home. And chances are it would remain a steady stream if it started again.

Abandoning his luxury cookies, L joined Light on the bed. "Have you gotten any further in the case?"

"Depends on what you consider a step forward. We know this guy might be taking Quimby for the recognition, and we've got him doing a phony story about the unsub... But, so far, nothing spectacular."

"Mm." Intoned the detective.

"A little girl saw him, spoke to him... but he was wearing a mask." Light's light brown gaze took in the detective's haggard appearance, and gesturing by a swirl of his finger, he asked that L turn in his seat so his back was to him. Gripping the detective's shoulders Light set to massaging them. "Why are you so tense?" He asked after a few minutes of working the knots from between L's slouched posture. The detective must have liked it, since he'd straightened up when the third knot was kneaded away.

"Am I?" Wondered L, or maybe he was just teasing Light by being evasive. It was hard to tell.

Lowering his hands to work L's lower back, he said. "I know you well enough by now. I see the signs." When L remained silent Light changed subject, "and where'd you come up with that ridiculous alias? _Lethally Legal_."

"Consider it an honor of my knowing what you're capable of." He looked over his shoulder, locking eyes with the former serial killer.

"Right."

Light would have rolled his eyes from lack of understanding that answer, but he refrained and instead focused on giving L a massage. Pressing a hand to the detective's back instructing him to lie down, Light moved over to straddle the back of L's legs.

"It's not just your muscle tension," said the masseuse. "You sound exhausted too. Why don't you get some rest," his hands pause their movements. "I'll watch out for you."

L scoffed, the drowsy sound muffled by the pillow beneath his face. "You make it sound as if I need protection from something or _someone_."

"I know how much you like your privacy," replied Light, "and where I don't think the others will harm you, they might come knocking on the door for something. Plus, it's gotta be strange living in a house with near-strangers." Light shrugged his shoulder. "Even I'm a little put-off by it. So why not sleep while I keep them from bothering you?"

L hummed his pleasure over the relaxing movements along his back and rear-end. He's never had his buttocks massages before, it was odd but in a good way. It's so considerate of Light to be looking out for him like this. But L wondered how long the effects would last? How long Light will remain a companion, a friend, a lover? His. The younger man has such a positive name, but there's so much darkness lurking behind it. If Kira was always there... Then would it have only been a matter of time before Light Yagami just became a different version of a Kira? Light wanted to be a detective, but life didn't often work out as one expected it to... He may have simply become a killer.

L peeked an eye open and looked over his shoulder at his masseuse, wondering, worrying... If things would change.

"You can tell me if something is wrong, L..." Light says when making eye contact with the detective. "I know you're upset about Watari, but you can tell me more."

"Is there more?" wondered L.

"I think that if I lost my mom and sister, I'd have more."

"Mmm. Good thing we're so different then."

Light couldn't help but bristle. "It isn't even fair for you to say that, when I don't know anything about you to make comparisons." His hands move to kneading L's folded arms; he lowers the left one to better work on it. "Why not tell me something about yourself? Any little thing,"

"I won't tell you about my life, because I don't remember it. But I can tell you my personal preferences, cases I've done..."

"I see." And he did see. But he still found that odd, and wondered how someone couldn't have even the slightest memory of who they were before they became who they are.

L thought about what Light had said a moment ago, about looking out for him while he slept. "You're very protective of me, Light. Thank you." After a pause, he asked. "May I ask you something?"

"Okay?" The agent sounded unsure, but he figured he could at least hear what L wanted to ask.

"When you were younger, was there anyone that you wanted desperately to protect from harm?"

"Protect? When I was younger... My family, I guess."

"Your family?" L wondered about that. "You're sure nothing happened to you as a child, that you would want to seek safety in drastic proportions?"

L knew it was greedy to have asked Light a question like that, considering the younger man is now missing a huge part of himself that should be the one answering the question. The detective was taking advantage, with his own agenda to learn more about Kira. But it feels like he's asking a kid if his parents are fighting, because when asking the adults they say 'They're fine'.

Light cocked a brow, his massage ceased altogether as he stared down at the detective's profile; L's eyes are now closed as if to keep Light from seeing the reason for the question. "What are you talking about, L?"

"I'm only inquiring about you." Answered the detective.

It wasn't purely for a personal Kira Q&amp;A, L genuinely wanted to know about Light Yagami as a person. He'd met the male during the case when Kira moved on to someone else, and where he lacked certain stimulations that Kira gave him, L found that he appreciated Light for Light.

He would get around to asking about Light Yagami once he was done asking about Kira. And to finish his thought, L continued. "Who in this world would need protection badly enough to wipe out fifteen percent of it?"

Appalled, Light asked. "You're saying it's myself? That I'd be that arrogant?" Climbing from L, he glowered at him. "And who is so important that half the world would be after them?" Genuinely stunned, Light shook his head.

That was L. Infuriation personified. Light didn't know why he'd allowed himself to react like that. He needed to school it in before they wound up fighting for the eight hundredth time in their existence with each other.

Rubbing L's lower back, he spoke calmly. "Even if there was someone like that, I couldn't be in a thousand different places to preemptively prevent something from happening."

L opened his eyes looking at Light again. Taking in the young agent's expression, he assessed the reply. _'He's answering sincerely. He really means what he's saying.'_

"You sure ask some strange questions when you're tired." Laying down beside L, Light added, "you may wanna reconsider that offer to sleep."

"You're so adamant about it... it makes me think you're gonna steal my wallet." Rolling so that he's on his back, L stared up at the ceiling.

Light watched the detective carefully, wondering what he was thinking or feeling. He'd even settle for a sneeze from the vacant gaze. With his index and middle finger, he walked them down L's torso. A mock pair of legs. A God's legs, just walking on water to shore. Light's fingers stopped moving when reaching the button of L's jeans. The index tapped at the silver button like it was knocking on a manhole.

L scrutinized all of these actions, before looking over at the person who'd made them. He and Light haven't been physical since it all went down in the yellow box warehouse. Light had been recovering. He still was. All of them, recovering. Physically and emotionally. The detective's long fingers came up to meet Light's interlocking with them. It was a possibility. Interlocking them.

Down the five stairs and a distance through the hall; Matt tried to suppress a snicker when Mello bound into the room and collapsed onto the bed with enough 'harumph', to bounce his head off the headboard before it rested against it.

"I take it things did not go well?" He inquired to the pouting blond.

Taking a gulp from his double-chocolate milk, Mello side-eyed his lover about ready to tell him to shut it, but opted for, "We're looking for a man with a weird accent, wearing a Frankenstein mask nowhere near Halloween, and- oh- he might be black."

Matt chuckled at his computer screen, continuing to type.

Curious, Mello nodded to gain the gamer's attention then asked. "What about you? What are you doing?" He took a long gulp from his drink before setting the empty glass down on the bedside table. "Did you get anywhere with the cipher?"

Shaking his head, Matt replied. "So far we're looking for a man who may or may not kill a twin that lives near the Thames or some other such body of water." He laughed at Mello's laugh. "But that's a big ass 'if'. Right now, I'm looking in on some dick who hacked Gevanni's laptop while Near was using it. It's just too weird of a coincidence for it not to be looked after- it could be our guy."

Mello nodded, then tucked himself under the blankets rolling over and over again as if trying to get comfortable.

From the peripheral of Matt's orange-covered gaze over the laptop, he can see Mello's movements and a smile erupts from his lips. "Why does it look like I should be joining you over there? I'm not so busy you have to go it alone."

Mello groaned which only made Matt continue picking on him, as he declared "ooh baby" to the situation. Sitting up on his elbows, he grabbed a pillow from the bed tossing it at the hacker. Matt's husky nicotine laugh filled his ears as he hid under the blanket when the pillow came flying back.

"You better watch it, red. I know where you sleep." Came a disembodied voice from under the blanket. "I'm just sick of pretending movement is progress. We need something solid."

"I know, I know. But for now, let's just chill." His fingers hammered away on the keys. "We're allowed to have cold spots and just rest. That's when we get our thinking done."

Matt wasn't wrong. But still, Mello is a man of action. So as he further buried himself in bed like a rabbit in a hole, he couldn't help thinking that resting fucking sucked.

They weren't the only ones resting from the case. Near is in his room working on another case. It seemed this one was coming to a close, and would be shut as soon as tomorrow afternoon. But first, he needed to book a flight to Denver. Then buy a change of clothes. Gevanni was with Rester in the library down the hall, putting together a dossier to read on the plane for the end of the day.

Rubbing work weary eyes, he looked at the clock. Dinner would be soon, but he figured he was owed a snack; flirting with pedophiles was exhausting on one's nerves. It would be impossible for a normal person to do it and not blow their cover when reading these people's words, or from constantly having to reject live chats over a mic or face time through skype. You'd either go mad and chew the perv out or you'd kill yourself.

Reaching into the side table, he removed a Swiss chocolate bar to eat before dinner. He gave a hum of appreciation over the taste washing across his palet. The strip of chocolate has nuts and raspberry nugget in each of the five pip-molds. It was strangely delicious.

"Ralph, what happened to April?" Near said for Leonardo; he didn't even try to impersonate the voice actor.

Said toy was currently tied to a bus across the room with Foot soldiers stationed here and there all over it; two Ninja Turtles stand dormant a couple feet away.

Eating the final piece of chocolate; he lowered the wrapper to the bed to type a response to the man on the other side of the screen that he would wear the Barbie panties he'd asked him to. Crossing the room he tossed the wrapper into the trash can, that's when the intercom crackled to life.

Over the speaker came the voice of the downstairs butler. "Dinner is now being served in the dining room."

L's dark gaze glanced to the intercom beside the bedroom entrance. "Aren't you going to dinner?"

Light scoffed. "Would it inconvenience them if I didn't?"

L wasn't sure if Light meant the servants or the other house guests. Either way, he appreciated their time together right now. Something to eat could be brought up later, there was no need for care.

It was long overdue that the two touched each other in private company. L must have missed it, must have _needed_ it. Light could tell by how detective's eyes fluttered closed to savor the small contact of the simple closeness of Light's lips to his cheek. Light doesn't kiss the pale flesh, not right away. Too enraptured in just being there. That he was the only one able to be there for the detective in that way.

Their noses brushed lightly past each other's, lips just ghostly present to lips. Light's hands had replaced his breaths against L's cheek but now it moved tenderly to the back of the detective's head, playful threading the hairs there around his fingers.

Watching his own hand, L's fingertips travelled up Light's bare arm like the mock pair of legs that crossed his ocean. Those long fingers tickled shivers up the investigator's spine. They passed over the bare flesh of his the back of Light's neck before detouring up the back of his head into his soft hair.

They've only been sexual a few times during the Kira case, the event surprising them both each time. Their roughness and fighting was therapeutically good- in their eyes. The outside world just grew worried. But for them it was a release of tension, until they surprised themselves by doing one better. But there's the before sex, those moments of simple acknowledgement of each other. That was their quiet. Their masterpiece of togetherness. When they could just explore through touch and taste. The knew every inch of each other intimately, down to the textures of skin and the notice of new hair growth amongst a sea of millions, to be exaggerated.

Light continued making the first move. He removed his shirt then jeans and boxers in one push. L watched with muted interest before getting out of his own clothing. It was time to turn closeness in to connection.

Light leaned over L's body pressing a kiss to the joint of the detective's leg. It was such an odd place to be kissed that L's pulse raced instantly from the allure. And he smiled, unseen by the cause of it, when Light's kisses, nips, and licks massaged the flesh of his torso. When those lips moved to his neck, the detective appreciated the smell caressing his senses. Light always smelled good. He could never place the exact scent. It was just good. And as he felt his hips being straddled, he watched through half-lidded eyes at a former-killer being kind.

L took Light's hand and kissed his palm three times before it lowered to his shoulder. Light's other hand occupied L's hip, his thumb made little circles around and around. The younger man's hips imitated the movement doing the same. Slowly against L. Around and around.

The detective smoothed his hands over Light's taut body, just to feel the muscles work. But his grip rested on the investigator's buttocks giving it a squeeze.

Downstairs in the dining room. The five house guests took their seats around the polished-wood table. It was hard to say who'd noticed first that L and Light weren't at the table, the servants or the detectives. But their absence was obvious.

Upstairs. Light put some bite into his kisses. The sweet tongue tasted like chocolate cream, accented well with L's warm lips that clamped onto the appendage exploring his mouth. Their noses Eskimo kiss when their lips part. The movement of their hips wouldn't allow them anything but to catch their heated breaths. Forced breathless by pleasure. It was good. Very good.

On the first detection of man-made liquid, L raised Light's up and assisted him down over his length. He kissed Light's exposed throat when the investigator arched his back.

Downstairs. Dinner was underway with the assumption that the lord of the manor and Light would be down once they were done talking. At least everyone assumed they were talking, but the confusion was soon replaced with certainty of the matter that the pair wouldn't come down any time soon- if at all.

Overhead was the sound of banging. _Familiar_ banging.

Gevanni seemed to be stifling a laugh around a bite of food. Rester ignored it, and instead looked over the police reports. Near spared a glance at the ceiling where the banging was coming from, but continued his meal with a stiffened posture. Matt plugged himself into his iPOD, the quickest playlist would do. And Mello turned red. The only people who seemed genuinely nonplussed were the servants. They kept composure in the face of anything.

Mello growled. It was gnawing at him like the banging was knocking on his head as if it was a door, and it wanted acknowledgement. It wanted him to hear the banging overhead. Wanted him to know the pattern in which his mentor was being boned by the biggest prick to walk the planet! Ugh! The sound was akin to someone trying to move furniture while sitting on it. He couldn't take it anymore! And nearly flipping his plate, he stood from the table and stormed out of the room. Near went after him with just as much bitterness.

Matt could only grimace, but remained at the table eating dinner to the sweet sounds of rock.

"Mello," Near caught up to the enraged older male at the end of the hall. He can see him through the reflection of the window. The blond looked ready to punch through the glass, and might have, had he not distracted him. "I know what you're thinking,"

"No, you don't." Snapped the embittered. "He's... He doesn't deserve to be with L."

Near agreed. But he also wanted to respect L's wishes about his feelings for Light Yagami and not Kira. "As much as I agree with you, L told me that we have to stop seeing Light as Kira. He's not that person anymore... And even if we don't see it.. L does."

"So what? I'm just supposed to like it?" Mello faced the teen with a gaze that could melt a glacier. "Fuck you."

Near shrugged. "We're going to watch out for L, whether he believes he needs it or not. In the meantime, we just ignore anything involving a 'them'. Matt agreed with me."

Mello wondered why that made a difference? He still hated the whole damned situation. He needed a distraction. Pushing past Near he hurried to his and Matt's bedroom, well-aware that, though it's on the second floor, the home is soundproof- at least wall to wall.

After retrieving a candy bar, and a bite was snapped into the sweet sweet chocolate, his glaring at the situation mellowed and settled on Matt's opened laptop on the bed. And he remembered.

x ~ x ~ x

He was barely thirteen years old. Fury in a 73 pound package. Mello had been through a particularly long class of learning about forensic science, when he saw a figure move through the hall at a speed that made it a blur. Straightening like he'd been jolted in the rear to sit up, Mello craned his neck in vain, since the speeding bullet was already gone. But the moment didn't leave Mello, even after class let out, or when he had left the dining room from there and wandered the hall during free period. Mello just thought of the elusive male who he only knew through a screen and a synthetic voice. L could have stood right beside him anywhere in the home at anytime, and he would never have known. Something about that didn't sit right with him.

Mello didn't do exclusions, he just didn't. Not when living in a home where everything but your personal identity is shared. So he set a plan into motion to at least touch the man. Figuratively speaking. Watari gets to touch L and got to know him personally. And L has been put on high as their mentor, so why can't they get to know him along with striving to be him?

"There." He beamed at the sketchpad that Matt got for Christmas last year. Written on it are the words: _**Hi, I'm Mello**_. From there, he took the book up to the empty third floor wing of Wammy's where A, B, and L resided. Occuppied, now, only by L.

_'Now where are those cameras? Ahh.'_

Walking over to the camera beside the door where L worked, Mello held up his sign. His touch. So the man could see it. A camera isn't just for show, the feed must be somewhere beyond that door, seen by the persons inside. There was no way L wouldn't get the message, or maybe even see it himself.

The pad dropped against his lap like it suddenly weighed a ton; he eyed the camera with curiosity then with a resigned sigh walked away.

x ~ x ~ x

Mello, in the present, smiled at the memory. He hadn't known L had seen the message. He hadn't known the man had zoomed the camera on his words that first day. _Touched back_.

x ~ x ~ x

Unsure of whether or not he was being received, Mello continued writing notes to L and raising them to the camera. But nothing came of it. Half the time he wasn't even sure the man was inside. Not until a week had gone by did he take a different strategy with the mysterious detective. He'd showed up with a chess move. And over the move he'd written: _**Chess?**_ And the next day when he went back, he found a sticky-note on the door with a counter to Mello's move. And the encounter with an alien began.

L had won every game, of course. But Mello never let up. Never stopped striving to beat the man. Even as he'd done his lessons, he thought about the next move he'd make. The one that would bring victory. Honestly, he had to know what would come of beating him? Would L acknowledge it or start another game?

And Mello had told no one about it. Not even his best friend Matt, who he liked to think, he told every thing. Not even his rival, Near, just to one-up the stoic little piss. L had been gone for a long time. Their games, of course, came to a stand-still. Then, one year later, Mello came back from lessons with plans of playing hide-n-seek with a bunch of kids outside, but he skittered to a stop when he saw a laptop sitting on his bed. Stuck to the back of the electronic was a sticky-note that read: _**Checkmate.**_ And a move. The closure to their incomplete game.

_'Rats,'_ thought the teen, until he raised the screen and saw the large monogram _**L**_. _'What's this...?'_ He wondered.

_**"Greetings, Mello. I trust I'll be seeing another game of chess from you tomorrow afternoon? But for now, I thought I'd tell you a story about an old case of mine."**_

It was like sneaking porn the way the teen had grabbed a set of headphone, and listened in private.

x ~ x ~ x

Mello let his tiny smile blossom into a grin. L had told him three cases during that week of his return. And in Mello's death, his memoirs of what L had told him would be sent out to all the letters of the alphabet, as sort of a final 'fuck you', that he'd had what they never could. That even though he didn't beat Near or couldn't- to be fair- he at least had something that no one else could. But then he hadn't died. And L hadn't died. Which was great, because now all the other Wammy's will believe that Mello had met L. Face-to-face and in person, to have heard the tales. When, really, he'd been privy to _them_ but not _him_. L.

Until now. Things are great now. But Kira's here.

_'Shit.'_ There went his good mood.

Dinner had gone on for another hour after Mello had left, leaving him alone to stew. The remaining diners, Near included, then enjoyed a dessert of fresh sliced peaches over flaming ice cream for an extra fifteen minutes. Mello was on his second chocolate bar by the time Matt returned. He was gonna get an earful.

Matt walked into the room smiling at Mello, who'd said something to him. But instead of hearing what the blond had said it looked more like he was singing a line from the song that's still playing in Matt's ears. Mello gave the cheeky bastard a belligerent look because he could guess at what was so funny, and he flipped him off.

Removing his earbuds and the player they're attached to from his pocket, Matt dropped the items onto the coffee table, he then dropped himself onto the seat beside Mello. "Are we still pouting?" He asked.

"Shut up." Mello brushed off the joking part of the comment, only because he was just starting to feel better and didn't need further reminding of why he had been pissed. Nor did he need to be teased about it.

"You should have grabbed some music and gone back, that steak and kidney pie," he shook his head in disbelief as he lit up a cigarette. "You'd take a kick to the balls for one forkful."

"I can get something later."

"Never mind that, I came to cheer you up."

Mello cut his eyes at Matt. "That's the last thing I wanna do after hearing that crap."

"Not that, I meant that thing you like to do but it turns my stomach," Matt removed his phone from the other pocket of his vest when seeing that his laptop had been moved to the bed. He wished the help wouldn't touch his things when they cleaned the room. It wouldn't have been in the way on the coffee table anyway. Although looking up addresses on the phone would be faster. "Let's go clubbin'."

"Seriously?" The fact that that had come from Matt did perk Mello up, and he stood up from the loveseat heading for the closet.

"Yup. I'm willing to deal with a room crowded with juicy, grinding people just to cheer you up." He grinned like he should be awarded for his charity. And considering he was intensely uncomfortable with crowds, he should be.

"You're a saint." Mello's sarcastic mutter travelled from the closet. He exited mid-dress and continued tugging on a form-fitting black shirt. "Well, if you're dressed, I'm ready to go. I can't bare another minute in this house right now."

"I'll go as I am." Into his phone he spoke to the search app. "London nightclubs." Looking at the screen he swore when 'Pubs' popped up instead of nightclubs. "Fuckin' he- no not fucking." He bellowed at the images popping up. "Whoever made this shit is probably having a good laugh." He turned off the auditory search and typed by hand.

Mello left the room with a laugh over Matt flipping him off. He scampered down the stairs, departing for the garage. He heard Matt calling after him that he'd be down in a minute.

Leaving the room, the redhead went down the hall and had to pause a minute when seeing Near in his room. He'd gone to ask the younger male if he'd like to claim hypopituitarism being the reason he doesn't look 21, and come to the club with him and Mello. But the vision before him slammed the words into the backs of his teeth.

Near is sporting a curly brown wig done up with blue ribbons in half pig-tails, he's also wearing a pale blue sundress with two-toned stockings that are sheer at the thigh and up but black at the bottom where cats were printed at his knees. But the kicker was the way the teen expertly crossed the room while wearing a pair of four inch Mary Jane shoes to grab his plane ticket from the coffee table.

Shaking off the stupor, Matt said in what he hoped was a casual tone and not bewildered nausea. "That's for _work_, right?"

"Of course." Came Near's voice, which was anything but feminine. A huge relief. "Did you get anywhere with the cipher?" Blue contact lenses caught Matt's gaze, and Near scoffed when the redhead looked away, unable to meet the strange gaze.

"Not yet. You?" He played on the door frame.

"No. So I'm off on something else while I think it through." He stepped over to the door and passed Matt on his way out. "Did you need something?" He asked when realizing that Matt was at his room.

Recovering from the whole awkward scene, Matt looked at him. "I was gonna ask if you wanted to go to the club with me and Mello?"

Near blanched at the idea. "Even if I weren't about to leave, would I have said yes."

Holding up his hands in defense, he stated. "Same here. But, I figured I'd cheer Mel' up." Walking behind Near and his agents, who are also carrying a single suitcase, Matt paused at the railing turn-off. "Too bad though, I'd pay good money to watch you dance."

Near looked up from the middle of the staircase to shoot him a humored smirk. Matt checked his watch seeing that it wasn't late enough for a club to be open, he figured he'd take Mello out for dinner first, then they could linger somewhere until midnight.

As he rounds the banister Matt glanced in the direction L's room was located; scratching the back of his head in thought, he sighed. _'Hope the newlyweds are done by the time we get back.'_

In the detective's bedroom the pair are still well into their activity of 'taking a break'. Their warm breaths puffed against sweat sheened faces in a lulling manor. Between movement and kissing, L would lick at and suckle Light's throat. It was enticingly heady. Light could almost envy the taffies the man often sucked on everyday.

The younger man kissed those sweet lips deeply then moved back to take the detective in. His flushed face, his sweat stuck hair... Light found him intoxicating. Not just the way L looked beneath him while the older man was inside of him, but that he, Light, was bringing it out of him. Making a man who seemed to know so much but feel so little... _Express_. _Feel_. Right now L was a man letting go. Who was just feeling.

The investigator paused the movement of his hips a moment as images played through his mind on a mental-movie-reel. Stairs. Stained glass. And L, looking at him through sogged bangs. ...A sad and sincere, beautiful 'goodbye' between them. But from when?

Before the thought could be grasped, Light leaned over to meet a kiss he'd been pulled into. He jumped a bit when the detective cupped him from the back of his thighs, fondling him there with the same pattern that his tongue is exploring the older male's mouth. Light voiced his pleasure as he moved over L's heat that was stuffed deep inside of him. And as one final burst of sizzle shocked through their conjoined bodies, they came to rest against each other.

After a time of recovering their breaths, Light cupped L's face and just kissed him. Not with fever or hunger, just to kiss. And L drowsily kissed back, until sleep took him.

Light looked down at the ghost on the pillow. Wondering about the sleeping man. Was he older or younger than he assumed? What was his natural laugh like? A _real_ laugh. Cocking his head, Light asked in a whisper. "Who are you, under all those aliases?"

Smoothing a hand over L's collarbone, he looked around the sunset bathed room before getting up to shower. When the water could be heard from the bedroom, L turned over onto his stomach and thought about Light's question. Who was he? And was that person someone he could share with Light?

1 p.m.

The room was jumping with techno music and electronic tracks and remixed pop tunes. There was barely room to dance, the floor was more like a place to stand if you wanted a kid or a couple hundred quickies. Matt wanted desperately to sit and observe but Mello kept him on his feet, moving along with the rest of the clubbers.

For Britts to be so reserved, they certainly knew how to get the room jumping. Flashing lights, blaring horns, smoke exhaust. Shots were poured, even on the dance floor! Now and then Mello's arms would wrap around Matt's shoulders and he'd plant a kiss on his lips. Matt loved when Mello rubbed up against him in leather pants, he could feel a certain something a lot better than he could jeans.

"Alright, baby." A woman shouted at them during a kiss. Then she handed them a shot each.

Mello wasn't about to drink it, but Matt downed the thing like it was a cure. Their supplier took the glasses back, drinking Mello's offering herself and continued dancing with her company. The Scala nightclub had a live band waiting in the wings to play in a bit, a group called Gully Bop.

It was looking around at all the colors illuminating the room from the swirling overhead that Mello's gaze landed on a dark figure at the bar. Watching them? He couldn't be sure. It's a big room, with more than 200 people dancing in it. He or she could have been looking at anyone.

Mello's erratic dancing slowed to a near stop as he watched the lighting dance on the person's pale face. Their sunken eyes looked even more hollowed.

_'He had on a weird sort of hat.' _The little girl's words danced through his memory as he observed a top hat on the man's head. The rest of the description played after that, about his pale face, and his strange clothes.

_'Could it... be?'_ He had no knowledge of why or how, but there was just too much of a coincidence.

The figure across the crowded floor seemed to notice Mello was watching, or presumed, and raised a glass to his voyeur. He tilted his head and watched the blond's movement stop. It was time to go. Sliding from the stool like he had thirty feet to work with in the crowded room, the unsub departed.

"That's him!" Mello called over the music.

Matt had to be tapped on the shoulder to notice the blond's disquiet, because he was both dancing and behaving like a germaphobe by trying his damndest not to touch anyone. He spun around to see what was up and locked eyes with Mello's departing back. Confused he swiftly followed after him. Matt could see what was going on as he got closer to the speeding blond, Mello was following someone.

Looking up over as many heads as he could, there were a few people moving about the floor but they weren't as obvious about getting around as the tall figure wearing a hat. Matt picked up speed and managed to get beside Mello through the human car wash.

"Can you still you him?" He called over the music.

The colorful lights dimmed then came back up again flashing bright white peppered by black spots around and around, the song playing was by Flo-Rida. The pair almost lost the pursued until a door onto the street swung open.

"Over there!" Mello pointed.

They dashed out the door into an alley. It was hard to see through the heavy rain and the steam rising from the warm streets. They couldn't even hear footsteps running through the wet on the ground.

"Where the fuck did he go?" bellowed Mello spinning around as if the unsub would spring out on them. There was just no way the man had gotten away that quickly. They were right behind him!

Matt looked around just as hopelessly before he shrugged in defeat. Ellis Quimby, it would seem, was no longer the only one being watched...

It had been a long night. They searched the area until 2:30 in the morning, and finding no sign of the murderer they finally went home. And after a thorough shower to wash away the drenching rain and the stink of failure, Mello and Matt retired to bed. Sleeping was not an option. They were lying there just staring up at the ceiling. Thinking.

"How did he know we would be there?" Mello wondered. "It couldn't have been an accident, he had to have known we were there."

Matt was quiet until something dawned on him. "The hacker! He could have turned on anything when he got into the computer," sitting up, Matt grabbed his hair as if trying to pull the stupid mistake from his hard-drive. "And I was saying the name of the club I was looking for when I was using that stupid Google search, he could have heard the whole damned thing."

Mello watched Matt beat himself up. But it wasn't Matt's fault, and he shouldn't have even thought to blame himself for it. "It doesn't matter how he found out, he wanted us to know that he knows we're investigating him. _Us_ specifically. That dick just wants to get off on the attention, he's not done with whatever he's doing... Not yet."

Matt appreciated the tempering, but he still felt his nerves pricked with annoyance. He needed an outlet. Grabbing his Vita from the bedside table, he laid back down in the bed waiting for Parasite Eve 3 to boot up.

_'The must have multiple computers, there's no way he could get through my virus.'_ He thought, having been reminded because the bug is Eve crashing the rebooted computer over and over. _'...Crashing computers?'_ His game landed with a thud beside him and he climbed out of bed almost too fast, he nearly tripped while going to the waste basket where all the balled up papers were still located.

"What is it?" Mello asked watching Matt grab a pen and start scribbling once he sat down on the couch.

"It was so obvious that I missed it... The cipher."

Getting out of bed, Mello crossed the room and sat beside him to observe.

"We over complicated things, when it was as simple as this..." he wrote the cipher down on paper. "In Parasite Eve 2," he ignored Mello rolling his eyes at the game referencing he was doing. "Aya had to solve a puzzle on a busted computer. There was a worm that scrambled passwords."

"A little faster." He didn't mean to rush his overjoyed lover, but he wanted something good to come from the fucked up day.

"Not only did it scramble the password but it alphabetized it, and it numbered how many letters were used." Then in a _Wheel-of-Fortune_-type manor, he solved the 2 puzzles and showed Mello.

1E.1H.2L.1O - _Hello_. 1A.1C.3E.1.2I.2L.1M.1N.20.1S.3T - _It's nice to meet you all_.

x x x

Commentary: Did you get it before it was given to ya? lol. I'm gettin' my birthday on, and celebrating with an update cause I have thing for doing stories. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. I'll keep working at being mistake free and such.


	7. Keeping an Eye Out

Light couldn't help but feel like he's being watched whenever L's around, even when he's not. It's one thing when the others don't trust him, but L? It didn't add up. So after he rose from his slumber he showered off then dressed and chose that time while the detective slept to rummage around in the room. The desks are bare of anything other than notepads and pens, he even found loose candies, one drawer had a box of donuts. But nothing significant. This home seems little more than an extravagant Headquarters.

_'I'm sure snooping will score trust points,'_ thought the nosy young man.

But he couldn't help himself, and opening the closet door he unexpectedly found his gold and diamonds. The closet was packed with case boxes that are filled with beige folders. Light opened box after box glancing at the names written on the heading.

_'Lauren Bates, Chaplin, Copy-Cat Killer, Augustine Hannon...' _Light's golden brown gaze went from the floor to the shelf then the corner of the ceiling before the shelf._ 'So many boxes with even more folders inside... It's amazing.'_

The light around him dimmed, but before the snoop could decipher it as being clouds rolling through the sky or someone having snuck up on him, L tapped Light on the shoulder then spoke.

"Did you find anything interesting in there?" The detective inquired, a finger touched his smirking bottom lip.

Straightening from his stoop, and not bothering with the politeness of pretending he'd been caught doing something else, Light instead turned around and explained himself. "I was curious."

"About my past?" Wondered the detective.

L moved past Light and into the closet where he took a folder from the opened box; his gaze shifted to the box in the back that held the Death Note and information about the Kira case. He'd had the information sent to the house knowing it would go in its usual place, he hadn't bargained for needing to move it.

_'It's harmless curiosity,'_ The detective told himself as he opened the file in his hand. _'there would be no danger if he discovered the notebook since it's just a clone.'_

And all names in the case files have been changed for security reason, so that was never a threat either. So Light could rummage through old cases all he liked. It effected nothing.

"I have to say I'm curious about my past myself," L went on saying. "I hear there's a birthday party documented from when I was six that they're still talking about."

"Ha ha," he set the folder back into the box then followed L out of the closet and over to the table for two. "Tell me about some of these cases," Light tapped the file on the table. "It would be nice to have an in-depth view of a case that isn't filled with holes from media reports."

Looking at the file, L smirked mischievously. "Maybe it should be another file, you're not ready for that one."

"Now I have to know about it," Light stood up from the chair, dashing away just in time to avoid L's swipe at the file in he'd snapped up.

The staff at the manor were buzzing about what went on upstairs in their bosses bedroom earlier in the evening. From the wait staff to the chef, their mouths never stopped moving. It sounded like an international conference was going on.

"Et tous ceux qui étaient dans la salle à manger ont pu les entendre." Whispered the main butler over his saucered cup of tea.

"_Really_?" replied the chef.

She was just hearing about what had happened during dinner service. According to the main butler, the entire dining room could hear the master and his lover having relations. It seemed impossible that anyone should overhear because she knows the home is, to a degree, soundproof. It must have been furniture movement. There was no way they could have heard voices.

"I for one am glad he's got something to do to keep his mind off of Mr. Watari's death," said Duvernay in his native tongue. The rest of the staff spoke in English with their British accents, one other person spoke in Spanish and they all understood one another. "He was in a terrible state."

The other staff agreed with a nod and a murmur.

"We shouldn't be talking about master L, he didn't come here to be a spectacle..." The young man blushed. "But it is kind of exciting to see such a scandal."

"_Scandal_?" Duvernay wondered.

"Mr. Yagami used to be a serial killer." Said the upstairs butler, his Spanish accent melded with the English language as he says so, and he corrected himself by adding. "The serial killer."

"You don't mean?" He watched the Hispanic butler nod his head, his curly hair bounced with the movement. "Good heavens." Duvernay looked out the kitchen entrance up to where the stairs were, as though he could see the couple lying in bed after their romp. Were they a couple? That was it, much too personal and invasive of privacy, he washed his hands of it.

The chef was setting food on the plates for L's and Light's late dinner, then she set it down on a tray. "Take these upstairs, and please don't be nosy about it." A silver cover is placed over the plates of food before the tray is lifted from the counter and handed to Javier Primera, the upstairs butler, to take to them.

The young man gave a thumbs up that he'd be discreet and not try to linger in the bedroom or assess the positions in the situation. He'd do his job as he's trained to. But before he could step into the hallway he was struck frozen by Masters Mello and Matt exiting their bedroom. They were in such a hurry their steps were almost thunderous like a stampede, and Javier could tell they were headed for the lord of the house's bedroom.

The pair had arrived back at the home in a bitter state. Duvernay offered them repast but the didn't so much as glance in his general direction, much less say 'no'. They just moved up the stairs and into the room they seemed to prefer sharing.

Javier turned at the doorway with wonder in his blue eyes about if he should continue upstairs with the food or give them their space?

The rest of the staff were at a loss and threw their hands up in the debate.

"Just hand me the tray, novice." He took the tray from the young man. "I'll deliver the dinners. You all clean up for the night."

"Sir!" They replied with a straightened back in lieu of a salute.

Mello knocked on the door before shoving it open; his charge was stopped by the horrific sight before him. It was equivalent to seeing your parents having sex, only this was much, much worse. Intimacy. The kind where one looks differently sounds different, and where one is different in the private company of each other.

Mello held his cringe when seeing L and Light in suspended animation of L trying to retrieve a case file folder from the serial killer's hand. But the part that disturbed him is that L wasn't reaching with conviction and Light wasn't holding it away in the same. They're smiling and looking playfully into each other's faces, until noticing the blond then they dropped their stances.

"Mello?" L stuffed his hands into his pockets then strolled over to the intruder; the need to retrieve whatever it is that Light's holding now gone and he's back to being the mysterious World's Greatest Detective, rather than a man in a relationship.

Matt hung back not wanting to just throw himself inside as Mello did, and from the pause in the doorway, he knew he was right to linger behind. But when hearing L speak he then followed his boss inside.

"We saw our guy," Mello declared while taking a seat comfortably at the computer desk with one leg on the floor and the other thrown over the arm of the chair. Two can play at this game. If Light wanted to behave like he wasn't an outsider or not a stranger to L, he could as well. "But he was either too quick or he pulled a fast one on us because we were practically at his heels but by the time Matt and I cleared the exit, he wasn't even an after-image."

Matt rummaged through the desk for pencil and paper, while Mello informed them about what had happened, then he scribbled furiously across the blank sheet turning it around after the finishing touches were made. "The kid was almost right, but the unsub actually looked like this," he's pleased to see the surprised look on their faces, it's the same one he and Mello sported when the killer had paraded before them like it was a fun game of tag. "Not exactly Frankenstein is it? That or he likes playing dress up. ...She got the hat right, though."

"Baron Samedi?" Light took the notepad. "Why would anyone dress like that to commit murder? There has to be some kind of significance to it." He hands the pad over to L. "Does Near know? Was he with you guys?"

"No. He left the country to see to another job," Mello explained taking the notepad back from L. Mello left out the part where he didn't plan on telling Near either. "We were at the club when the guy just raised his glass to me when I locked eyes with his- or his sunglasses anyway- he bolted."

Light grabbed his chin in thought. "So he knows that we specifically are investigating, and he followed you?"

"I'm positive he doesn't know where we're staying," Mello answered though he's looking at L when saying this, "he found out where we were going because of Gevanni's computer. He hacked it and overheard our conversation about wanting to go to the club."

"Is the line still there?" Light asked Matt this, knowing that he's the genius techie in the house.

"Couldn't risk it. He hadn't done it, but if he tapped into more than the audio feed, he could track the laptop and found the address. The computer's debugged and protected now." Nodding his head in the direction of the exit, he added. "The back door I used to send him a virus could get us back in, but I really think we should leave it alone if he could still mess with the audio even after I gave him a virus."

Matt wasn't one to toot-his-own-horn, but he damn well knew he was one of the best of the best when it came to technology. The unsub must have gotten back in from a different computer. He had only been in the process of encrypting Gevanni's computer, he could have snuck by when he left the screen for the bathroom or something to eat. Not to mention that little break he took to catch up on his gaming. It was a slow day, he's allowed breaks.

A knock on the door quieted them and the main butler slid the cart into the room and over to the small table. He said nothing as he set the table for the late diners, then he left the room closing the door softly behind him.

Light could smell the slices of roast lamb and a dollop of mint jelly on the side in a dish, the buttery scent wafting from the creamed spinach pie with fresh herbs wasn't bad either. He moved over to the table but kept himself engaged in the conversation while he dined. L wasn't as polite and emersed himself in the delicious spread of chocolate french horns piped with clotted amaretto cream, laying over a bedding of sweet cherries that had been lit on fire before serving, then dressed with thick white chocolate drizzles.

Mello and Matt watched from the distance at L dunking torn chunks of pastry through the cherry juices that leaked free during their flame bath. The man looked like he could die happy. Mello blinked from his stupor then continued with the conversation.

"We also cracked the ciphers," he flicked his hand to Matt telling him to give the sheet of paper to Light. "It was so simple it's almost laughable."

The comment was rightly used, because when Light looked it over he could have laughed. How could they have missed it? He knew how. The numbers were throwing them off for more of that 'misdirection' the killer loved so much. But it was simple Wheel-of-Fortune.

"He dresses as a God of Death who decides who lives or dies," Light missed the held breathes upon his saying this, "but wants to be noticed... Why hide your face? It's so inconsistent, what's this guy really after? Attention? Or is he simply a sociopath?"

Matt spoke up then to say. "He definitely knows what he's doing, a psycho wouldn't take the time to kill then leave messages at the crime scene."

"Perhaps," L drawled out lazily as he watched a strand of white chocolate thinning out from the chunk of pastry pinched between his fingers. "there's something distinctive about him, more than the accent of his voice that would give him away?"

"A scar or even a missing eye?" Light mused after setting down his fork. Unless the guy was so ugly there would be no mistaking him even in a room full of goblins, then it could only be something too big to hide even with make-up.

"The Baron Samedi?" Mello repeated looking at the photo.

"His description is all over the place, but the whole of it is that he takes the lives of people scheduled to die... Kind of like a living, partying, Judgement Day." Matt turned off his phone that he was checking the internet on, reading off the content to them. "Samedi loves drinking rum, smoking cigars, womanizing... Not exactly the enforcer of fear, until the time comes then he reaps you and drops your corpse into the coffin he drags around."

"There was no coffin." Commented Mello standing from the chair.

"Maybe we're not on his list- that's assuming he has one." Matt shrugged a hand.

L stood from his seat, finished with his dinner, and he steered Mello and Matt to the door. "I'd like a word with the two of you, please."

Confused, but compliant, they follow L from the room. The scuffling detective walked down the few stairs out of his bedroom and down the hall away from the door. Mello thankfully didn't bump into him when he stopped moving though he was following closely enough.

"This case is beginning to sound familiar." L said when turning to face the pair.

"I know what you mean, it's exactly like the second Kira in some ways." Mello agreed, "to dress like that... If Baron Samedi's legacy is being implicated in this situation then we could figure it towards the second Kira's abilities. Those victims could have been slated for death by some other means, a break-in, or a sick and stalkerish employee..." He was referring to the victims in the hotel.

"We certainly have no way of knowing it, because the victims have nothing in common outside of look-alikes."

"What if that's the catch?" Mello pondered out loud. "What if the lookalikes are a hidden meaning that the case should look familiar to us? What if this is another Kira case?"

L bit at his thumbnail and when dropping his hand into his pocket he looked over to where his bedroom is, not surprised to see a ghostly shadow beside the slightly opened door. "If it is another notebook case, then I'll leave the country and leave you to your work here. I don't need to tell you that certain persons can't be around the situation, the risk is too high."

Mello scoffed over that statement being one of the years. Crossing his arms, he couldn't help having a daydream of a horrible revisit of the paddle ball that is the Death Note. Anyone, good or bad, could get their hands on one and use it for their own devices. But who would recognize them to the case and then throw it in their faces?

"L?" Mello paused and looked over his shoulder. "Was Amane's body found?"

"Yes, put in the morgue and autopsied." Replied the detective. "She was very dead and buried."

He didn't have to ask if blood work was done on the body, enough people had seen her jump from the bridge, the rescue workers had gotten there in time to fish her out before she sank deep to the bottom of the sea, never to be seen again. No. It couldn't be Amane. She wasn't in the water long enough to be bloated just long enough to have drowned.

"I can run a background check on Amane's friend, the one that was questioned for helping her mail the tapes." Matt jumped in.

"That would be a good idea. We don't know how much she was in on what was happening with Miss Amane." L watched the shadow move from the door; leaning forward he whispered. "The house has cameras, but mind your words from now on in concern to the case."

"Right." Mello touched L's shoulder to show him that he understood.

L looked down at the touch then over at the person who'd done it. A small smile crossed the detective's lips then he touched Mello in the same.

"While I'm at it, I'll pull up the video feed from the club," Matt raised the goggles around his neck and placed them over his eyes, it was going to be a sleepless night tonight. "Maybe we can see our guy's movements after he left the club."

"Good night. I'll see you at breakfast, we can eat together." L walked back to his room, closing the door.

Mello felt good from their talk. Light wasn't included. And though the door had been closed to the bedroom, it hadn't been closed to them metaphorically. Draping an arm around Matt, he marched them towards their room.

"I'll get some coffee sent up." He gave the techie a push into the bedroom then walked downstairs to the kitchen for the caffeine fix to keep them on their toes.

The detectives weren't the only ones burning the midnight oil. The journalist was busy typing away on his computer to get a first draft done. At first, he thought it was ridiculous that he type a story about this case, but, the further along he got with it the more he became interested and invested' namely in making himself look good. The killer would appear in the tale eventually, but at the moment, he wanted to rightly capture himself in the situation. Every feeling and emotion, every heightened nerve.

_Quimby walked with quiet steps through the hall of his workplace at The Mirror. He felt a sudden urge to go back to his office for something he'd left in his desk but continued his pace to the double doors._

_"Good night, Dina," he said with a wave as he passed by an open office door on his way out, "I've gotta get home and work on the gossip article. Worthmore is gonna flip when he sees how I entertainingly I write about Prince Harry at that party. He'll put me on as a real journalist then, he'll recognize that I'm wasting my talent with this lowbrow stuff."_

_"Wha'eva you say, Ellis." Replied Dina. She's filing her nails instead of filing articles, it was very typical of her. "Don't forget you're on lunch tomorrow, I want a bacon buddy."_

Ellis thought about that moment then decided to knicks it. He couldn't write himself as a Page Boy, everyone would laugh at him. It'd be better if he didn't put the encounter in at all, he can just add on to the chapter by exaggerating the weather or sunset or some other menial bit of scenery from that night.

Stretching his arms up over his head he drew in a breath of air through his nostrils as long as the need to stretch lasted, then he expelled the breath once dropping his arms. Time for bed. Or at least, a brief nap. It's now four in the morning and he'll be at work by six. So really he can only squeeze in a nap. The journalist walked up the stairs to his bedroom; smiled in his sleep, having sweet dreams of making it big off the terrible situation. Ellis has never known anyone who hasn't made it big when writing about personal tragedy. However, his creative exhaustion deafened him to the footsteps exiting an upstairs bedroom, and their traveling downstairs to his computer.

But the next morning he walked into his living room to continue with the tale just to find his computer screen had been smashed in with a very pronounced hole. Ellis spun left then right looking for the vandal, believing if he'd gotten in undetected then he may still be inside and hiding out. Going to the front door he came face to face with a post-it note. Squinting at the cursive letters he reads: **Do it again. Or I'll replace you.** written on it.

_'Replace me?'_ He took his fingers through his hair with frustration, knowing what "_replace_" meant in the words of a killer. He was tired of living in fear. At least, he wasn't harmed in any way this time or moved out of his home though he could live without the knowledge that someone is continually breaking in added to the clear fact that the so-called police force can't seem to do their job. At least, the cop might have kept the killer from taking him. He might be able to slip in undetected, but he could never slip out with a body in his arms and have the officer turn a blind eye.

He needed a cup of Earl Grey. And apparently a new concept for his tale.

0 0 0

Near walked into the manor from a successful job and now he could use a good days rest, but he was distracted by the sound of conversation and... death? Screams of agony filled the air followed by retaliation battle cries. Walking into the sitting room he sees Light and Mello having a cup of coffee while jotting down notes and talking about the case. The majority of the sound was coming from the large flat-screen television against the wall in the room, where Matt and L are playing some horrific shooter game.

"Would you like something to eat, master Near?" Duvernay asked, appearing behind the young detective; one of the other members of the staff removed the younger boy's bags and took them upstairs to his bedroom.

"Something light, a sandwich and some carrot sticks." Replied Near turning away from the scene with a yawn to his palm. Jet lag was never fun.

"What would you like to drink?" The butler then inquired.

"A glass of milk, thanks."

"As you wish." With a curt bow, the butler left the room to retrieve Near's repast.

Gevanni followed Near up to his bedroom closing the door but leaving a crack. "What do you think that was about?"

"I imagine they're operating on lack of sleep as well." Replied Near stripping from his usual attire to change into something clean after a quick shower. "The whole scene seems a little out of place; check the police records while I shower, maybe there's been some progress with the case." He doubted Scotland Yard may have found something they'd missed, but it was worth a shot to look, and anything was a leg in the right direction.

Gevanni snuck a peek at the free show then opened his laptop; the one he brought with him on the other case, not the one that had been hacked. He grimaced at the post-it stuck on the screen that had a little doodle of Matt on it, smoking and giving a peace sign to him with the words: 'Clean' printed in the haze of smoke.

_'Youth. Though to be fair they're not much away from my age, but oh what a couple years difference makes in comparison.'_ His green gaze traveled to the bathroom where shower water was running._ 'Then again, Near's younger than all of us, and he's three times more mature, save aside the thing with toys.'_

A knock on the door got him up from the seat and he allowed the upstair's butler access to their room to drop off the food for them. He hadn't made any requests so he would be partaking of the same meal Near had asked for.

_'I could really go for a burger,'_ he thought as he bit into a roast beef sandwich,_ 'a sandwich and carrot sticks seems more like a school lunch packed by mom.' _He took a sip of his milk wishing it was a beer or wine.

"There's still hot water if you're planning on showering in here." Commented his boss, as he departed the bathroom.

"There's enough hot water to bathe the army if they all shower as quickly as you had," He smirked at the vacant blink his comment earned from Near.

Gevanni turned his eyes away when Near seated himself across from him in the armchair in his usual manner of one leg bent to rest a foot on the chair and the other remaining down, foot on the floor; the lower part of the Turkish cloth bathrobe left nothing to the imagination. But the agent politely kept his vision on the screen- most of the time. But when his boss reached for the glass of milk causing the loose tie to come undone around his waist, leaving him utterly exposed to him, Gevanni excused himself from the table. Taking his laptop over to the couch he sat down at a safe distance in the safe zone.

Smirking, Near commented on the hasty retreat of his subordinate. "My mistake, I really should exercise better decorum."

"Would you, please?" Replied Gevanni light-heartedly but utterly serious as well. "Isn't it enough that there are cameras everywhere, but you have to make it seem like it's my fault I want to get in your pants."

"Isn't it? By law, I'm just a minor who doesn't know what he's doing."

Gevanni swallowed down the sickening feeling in his stomach that bubbled to the surface. He can't go on being manipulated by someone younger than him, then teased about giving into his baser needs.

Stacking his carrots then Gevanni's into a pyramid, Near asked. "Did you find anything while going through the police reports?" An orange stick wavered at the peak of the tower then it moved away from the pile to the young detective's mouth.

"Nothing new on their end."

Looking at the stack of letters resting on the table beside the door, Near left his seat at the table to retrieve the mail. "This is interesting?"

"Hmm?"

"Looks as though Matt and Mello came to the same results of the ciphers as we had." He turned a scrap of paper in his hand showing it to Gevanni from the distance.

It was either left by the pair as a 'welcome home' gift or a 'naah-naah, we solved it first' should Near's team not have gotten there as they had. He supposed it depended on whom left the paper. Near got his revelation on the plane home as he played Scrabble between the seats with Rester. It was the score point number over the letter that had him thinking about Wheel-of-Fortune which brought the ciphers to mind. Puzzle solved.

0 0 0

Ian was so overjoyed by the luck he had today. The sun is shining brightly in the sky, there are clouds but none threatening rain with gray tones. They're all puffy and white. All his little friends are having a ball in the bounce house and playing Duck-Duck-Goose; his best friend Nathan is enjoying the food set out on the table; his dad is doing the grilling.

The birthday boy was enjoying candy from his party favor bag when his mother called all the kids to her so they could play a game of Hide-n-Seek. He loved the game! He was never found, and always found his friends whenever he was the seeker.

"Ian, would you like to start out as a hider or seeker?" Asked his mum over the noisy bunch.

"Ummm, hider!"

"Alright, Paul you can seek first." Clapping her hands she then said. "Okay, everybody run and hide you've got 'til twenty- let's move!"

The kids scrambled to their feet and bolt around the park for hiding places. The game went on for a good hour until the birthday boy finally took a turn for seeking. He called out names of his friends as he found them, he roared with laughter as he chased them to base. But there was one kid missing out of twelve. Ian knew Bryan was good at hiding, but he hadn't expected him to be this good.

"Where aaaare yoouuu?" He taunted. Looking around him he sighed.

A gust of wind tugged a nut from the tree above his head causing him to look up. He thought he'd see a sneaky squirrel laughing it up; as only a seven-year-old could imagine. But what he saw was a boy.

"Hey! Are you here for my party?" He called up to the child. The boy looked a bit older than him, maybe 10 or 11-years-old, but Ian's friendly and wouldn't exclude a kid from the festivities just because he doesn't know him. "You can come on down, if you're playing the game this means you've been found out."

The older boy didn't move, he just sat up in the tree looking down at him.

"Are you all right?" Figuring the tree top kid was afraid to climb down to a degree of paralysis, he scuttled off to go get his mother.

When the two returned he pointed the boy out.

"Come on down, then!" She called up to him. "I'll help you, don't be afraid."

But the wind beat her to it, knocking the paralyzed child off his perch and into the waiting arms of Ian's mother.

"Poor thing's frozen stiff." She declared. Holding him out at arms length her eyes went wide at the sight of him, and she let out a scream heard round the park.

The gathered kids looked on screaming as well at the sight of a young boy whose eyes have been burned out...

0 0 0

"I'm sure I don't have to tell any of you that Ellis Quimby's project is to be kept a secret from the police, as well as the press. It'll give it a life it doesn't need, and lead to more killing than is necessary." L was saying to the trio who're on their way out of the living room to relocate to the dining room for lunch. They've had enough fun and games for one day, at least, Matt and L had. Light and Mello had been going over notes though sitting together the two weren't in a companionable company.

"By the way," Matt began walking backward as he spoke to them, "the video feed is some bullshit because I couldn't find it. They must be on VHS which means I have to retrieve them." He shrugged a hand. "I can only hope the footage hasn't been gone over by now. I'll be back in an hour or so..." That said, he parted through their trek to the dining room to make his way to the garage.

Mello was not about to spend the afternoon lunching with Kira, but he was interested in spending some time with L, so he endured the unwanted company and took his seat at the long wooden table.

Taking a seat at on the right of the head of the table where L sat, Mello reached for a candy bar in his pocket, even as the maid began setting their plate before them. Snapping off a bite he chewed the rich bar past his lips into his mouth and tried to be inconspicuous with his staring at the detective. The man wasn't easy to talk too much less start up conversations with. Light didn't seem to have a problem with it, as he said in a casual manner.

"Could you maybe have more than a fruit salad for lunch?"

The new agent raised his brows when L's appetite allowed him to pause and look at Light with wonder over his sanity to ask such a question. If not a fruit salad than what exactly was he supposed to eat?

"Look, this cob salad is delicious... and it's sweet corn." He held the loaded fork over to the detective. "Have some."

L blinked at his significant other then looked over to Mello. "How has Matt been since he left the hospital?"

"Good, I'm making sure he's not overdoing it with the meds... I don't even think he needs them anymore." He took another snap from his candy bar. "Once in a while I'll catch him spacing out, but he gets it back quick enough."

L nodded a response.

Light couldn't help thinking about his own injuries, and the tremble in his right hand where the bullet tore through it. 'At least, Matt had been harmed in action, I was shot by a fool.' Light's trembling hand called into an angered fist.

"L, could you tell me some stories about Wammy's before- back when it was just you, A and B?" He didn't wanna thank Light for the opening, but it was good that it was there.

"Wammy's before?" His index finger went thoughtfully to his lips. He didn't know where to start. He'd actually lived very isolated within the house. It was his choosing. "Mmm..." Droned the detective's deep voice.

_**Television Reporter:**_ "A macabre birthday party has gone on in St. Giles Hills park, where a child has found a young stranger hiding in a tree during a game of hide-n-seek. The sobbing child reported that he called up to the boy, telling him that he was seen but when the child didn't move he called for his mother believing the boy was stuck in the tree, and afraid to come down."

The three watch the television, that had been turned on before they'd entered the dining room as all televisions in the home are when the detectives and agents move about. It was one of the official rules for the help.

Mello could have kicked the murderer. Couldn't they have some solid home time with the detective and not always be out on the field weeding through the messes he's made. Realizing luncheon was over, he grabbed a brownie from the serving tray one the sideboard to eat on the drive to the park.

_'I'd rather take a bike, but God forbid pretty boy learn how to drive.'_ Though he doesn't really blame Light too much, since you have to drive on the other side of the street. It could really jack up even the most seasoned of drivers. He had the luxury of riding bikes to get his traffic legs.

"You go on without me, I'll wait here for Matt." Light said continuing with his meal.

Nodding, Mello then left the dining room. _'Thank you.'_ He said to the wind.

"Liiight," L drawled while sorting through the whipped cream coated fruits for a specific one to partake of. "I hope you're not staying here because you're allowing Mello to intimidate you?" He slurped the cream from his fingers once a large winter melon slid past his lips. "Mmm." He voiced his pleasure.

"Hn. Hardly. I wanted to stay and help Near's team today," replied the new recruit. "I figure I could divide my expertise and knowledge between both investigative teams."

"That's fair reasoning." Opening wide for a chunk of pineapple, he nearly gagged when Light shoved a spoonful of salad into his mouth in the fruit's place. L made a disgruntled intone but reluctantly chewed and swallowed the bite.

Light smiled smugly over his payback for L's comment. That the detective would even think he'd be intimidated by anyone was laughable.

...

Light walked into Near's room after cleaning the flung whipped cream from L's retaliation off of his face. The detective could be so immature. A five-year-old behaves better than him. The agent got a sense he was intruding on something when he found Near getting out of bed with nimble fingers carefully doing up the buttons on his white shirt. But he has just gotten back from a trip and could have been napping.

"Near, the unsub was stalking Mello and Matt last night at a night spot they visited," He said before any awkward explanations could be exchanged about the state-of-undress.

Gevanni is on the couch with his laptop and looks as usual in his attire, he's just missing a coat and tie. But that's to be expected when you're not on site. Light remained standing as he spoke, unsure of whether or not he'd planned on staying in the room with them or gone back to work with L and whatever the detective would be doing for the day. He had no doubt that L would be busy because once the M's left their bedroom L didn't return to bed after his meal, as he did, the detective began work on his computer.

"And?" Replied Near walking over to the couch where he sat beside Gevanni.

"He was dressed as Baron Samedi."

"A god of the underworld, huh? That's certainly a far leap from a B-movie monster." Mused the detective. "But, I suppose from a little girl's perspective he could be seen as a Frankenstein."

Near recalled the appearance of the Baron being that of a patch-mouthed skeleton. But that isn't saying much seeing that there are at least five variations of its thanks to pop-culture. But it would seem the unsub is going by the New Orleans version based on the African appearance of the Baron.

"It doesn't help with the case exactly, but we, at least, know he walks around the city disguised that way if he's willing to hide his appearance and approach a little girl like that and follow Matt and Mello around."

"Too bad we have no real lead to his victimology outside of twins and look-alikes, he's just picking people at random. It would have been clearer if all the victims were twins."

"Looks like we may have another misdirection in the case," Light looked at the television that's turned on the Channel 20 news station.

"I've already got Rester out there collecting evidence, if you'd care to join him, by all means." Commented Near. "Gevanni and I aren't doing anything pertaining this case until he sends his findings to us."

Light was being dismissed, that much was obvious. But he was already on his way out the door to join L.

At the nightclub downtown. Matt is watching the video feed from yesterday; the club owner stood nearby watching as well. Nothing happened last night so he couldn't understand why the police would want to see their security videos. The red haired F.B.I guy wouldn't tell him the specifics, just flashed him his credentials and asked to see the footage.

A stream of smoke shot from the agent's mouth in the direction of the screen. Matt's brown gaze looked past the unsub to the bartender. "Can you give me the employee's name and number? I need to question him."

"He's not in trouble, is he?" The owner scratched at the part of his head that held hair, distress wrinkled his 40-year-old face. "Mac's our best bartender, he never does a thing." The man seemed to be grasping at straws over how to exonerate his employee. "He knows a fake I.D. when he sees one, and never lets a woman get pushed around."

Matt cast the man a 'spare me' glance._ 'Why is this place so out-dated? I could have zoomed in if it weren't for the VHS.' _Thought the techie. _'Duh.'_ Popping the video from the VCR he held it up for the man to see. "I'm taking this with me. Get your employee down here so I can talk to him before I leave- and don't tip him off, I'll be listening."

The owner looked spooked by the comment, now he knew he was going to be sick. What if his bartender had done something? Or was he in cahoots with this madman dressed as a skeleton? Would he be tried as an accessory of an accessory, or simply get a slap on the wrist? The man speed dialed his employee with a trembling finger, but his voice remained stable as he spoke.

"Mac, I'm gonna need you to come in for a while to help with a shipment. Rob's got a bad back, you know how it is?" He listens to his man then nods. "See you then." Hanging up, he looked at the agent. "He's not in trouble is he?"

"We'll see." Replied the techie. He's been around Mello long enough in his lover's mob life days to know how to shake confessions from people. They only have to believe there's a problem and that they could be a party to it, and watch them squeal on each other like little piggies. "You can go about your usual business here, but don't leave the building and don't call this Mac of yours in private."

"I wouldn't have the time to, he lives a block away. He'll be here in ten minutes time."

Matt took a seat on a bar stool; tapping the video tape thoughtfully in his palm. He knew it was a stretch converting the footage onto DVD then uploading it to his computer, he wasn't sure what he'd find at a closer range but it was better to know the situation from every angle. Looking about, he noticed that the bar looked different with the natural lighting turned on and the lack of smoke screen, and half nude grinding people. Put up some shelves with books, it could even pass for a library- a library with a bar anyway.

As the club owner had said Mac Hall showed up ten minutes from being called. The squared off man had a big grin on his face as he stepped into the workplace, but his smile wavered when seeing a stranger sitting at his bar. Must be a newbie who needs the training to work the nozzles or some other meager tasks.

"Mr. Hall, I'm Matt Sadler with the F.B.I. I'd like to speak with you about yesterday night." He put his credentials back in his pocket. "You're welcomed to stay, Mr. Goffe."

"Okay, but if this is about that underaged girl- I swear I didn't serve her." Mac took a seat beside Matt.

The employee looked at the agent with suspicion. He doesn't look like any agent he's ever seen. Shouldn't he be wearing a suit and tie or something more official than tight jeans and fitted brown and black stripped shirt?

Noticing the look, Matt shifted in his seat. "I was off duty but got called in for this." He shrugged a shoulder. "Last night you served a man dressed like a skeleton," Matt purposefully doesn't specify the Baron because he doesn't want it to go public. "Did he do anything out of the ordinary? What did he order? How was his demeanor?"

"I get a lot of weirdos in here, it's a nightclub after all- we even have theme nights." The man beamed a perfect row of teeth at the agent. "It was my idea, they don't usually do that sort of thing in the UK."

"You're not from here?"

"I'm an American; you may have noticed the lack of accent."

Matt had noticed that, but then the club owner doesn't have much of an accent either though the man's for sure an Englishman. He'd just assumed the bartender had lost his. "And the rest?"

"Let's see... He took his time looking over the selections on the shelf before asking me for rum." The bartender pointed to a specific bottle. "He was adamant that it be from that bottle... He had such a weird way of speaking like he was trying to get a loogie out of his throat." The man became animated as he tried to imitate the unsub's way of speaking. "It was like.. it sounded like this," he cleared his throat before quoting the man. "Can hi get a hrum? From that bottle right there."

Matt looked at the bottle Mac Hall was pointing to. Climbing over the bar, he picked the bottle up and looked it over. What could be so special about this bottle than any of the others that were the same kind of rum? He looked over each bottle and they were all the same. Was it just a nothing sort of thing?

"It was kind of annoying how insistent he was about it. There was already a dark rum open, and when I reached for a closed one other than that one you're holding he did this click thing in his throat and asked again that I use that bottle."

Matt again looked at the bottle. "I'm taking this as evidence," He informed the bartender, who threw his hands up as if to say 'he's never seen the thing before in his life'. It was good that he cooperated, it made his job easier._ 'Tapes, liquor... I should stop somewhere for fish and chips. I can find one of those faster than I could find a burger place.'_

"He was very relaxed except for that the insistence of the bottle, he didn't seem strange to me at all." Mac's voice cut through Matt's mental luncheon. "He sat and drank three shots before turning and watching the dance floor. He didn't talk to me beyond that, then he left in a hurry."

_'That's when he was being chased by me and Mello.'_ Figured the techie.

"I think he might have some pretty deep pockets too," recalled the bartender. "His cigar smelled expensive- you might know the kind if you looked it up- I never touch the stuff." He was referring to the fact that Matt also smelled like nicotine which meant he as a smoker of some kind.

"Can you remember anything else?"

Mac Hall thought about it his blue eyes spaced out as he stared up at the ceiling. "You ever meet someone who makes you hairs stand-on-end- even though they haven't done anything?"

_'No.'_ Thought Matt in reply.

"Half the people sitting at the bar were watching the women dancing out on the floor, but this guy... Even something as normal as that seemed... awkward? I can't think of the right word, but it seemed like an act just to sit there. Isn't that weird, or is it just me?"

_'Everything about the guy is weird.'_

Matt took his leave of the place then went for lunch. That's when he got a call from Mello.

"We've got another body."

x x x

Commentary: If you wanna just be sickened and scared out of your mind, while somehow finding inspiration from it, you should see the horror that's befallen our Death Note. Some donk made it a drama, and it's... eeeeeeee. My beautiful Near has been ruined! And Light fans who don't like Misa will be seeing whatever they last ate because in this show Light is the one obsessed with Misa. Not cool. *sigh* The only plus is the interesting idea of Near making dolls of them and having D.I.D with them, that was cool. In the future I'd play with that idea.

Thanks for reading, it makes my day knowing that you are. And if there are any mistakes, I'll fix them when I see them. Everything looks different when posted.


	8. Wizard Eyes

Mello took another bite from his candy bar, the acidic bittersweet taste covered his taste buds almost instantly as the soggy chocolate further melted from the heat in his mouth; the fix had been in the glove-compartment a bit too long so the engine heat got to it leaving it soft and playable like thick clay, but it was still a pretty good bar of chocolate. It's now just as soggy as the day has turned out to be.

He'd be out there among the milling policemen but it's raining again and since the crime scene has been multiply contaminated by water, the cops' footprints, the kids' and parent's prints at the birthday party, he saw no reason to rush over. He's just glad he had the foresight to take a car even though Light hadn't come with him, he saw the clouds and they didn't scream 'mist'.

Waiting out here could even be for nothing, this murder may not even be their guy, but then again, finding a corpse in a tree is not a usual thing, not that finding a corpse anywhere is natural outside of a morgue, but this finding, in particular, is strange in the sense of their killer's 'Calling Card'. It makes no sense and yet there is something on the body or around it that'll coincide with what the unsub hopes to accomplish during his killing spree.

**Radio Feed:** The boy had something on his eyes, looked like scabs...

The police radio crackled on once in a while Mello listened in to the feed.

**Radio Feed:** Coroner says it should take a half hour to check the body for what killed him. We're gonna clear out in about ten minutes.

_'Idiots,'_ Mello balled up the chocolate bar wrapper and dropped it into the ashtray, _'they'd better have had a tarp over him or anything useful on the victim could have been rinsed away.'_

The environment, the body, it was all up for grabs to ruin in England's weather conditions, it's a wonder the police caught anyone here with the rain acting as crime scene clean up for the killers. Mello would bet anything that Jack the Ripper did most of his murders during the rainy season. Less foot traffic, water to wash away excessive blood, and, of course, if the rain is heavy enough it'll muffle sounds of a struggle.

Mello, having been in the mob for some time, knew how to get rid of a body and when. He'd made many a slacker or disagreeing fool disappear in his reign. It helped that no one cares _when_ people in the underworld go missing.

The agent expelled a hard breath through his nose and straightened in his chair. _'So you're wearing leather, it's not as if it'll shrink.'_ Pushing the door open the sound of the rain hammered away louder than when the door was shut, it was almost deafening. Rolling his eyes, Mello stepped out of the car and hurried through the park towards the crime scene.

The officers on the scene eyed him with suspicion but none approached due to wonder of why a young man clad in leather would have interest at the park and in this particular area, no less; when Mello knelt down beside the tree then straightened and looked up with intentions of climbing the tree, that's when one of the officers stepped in and said something.

"Excuse me, what are you doing here?" He grabbed Mello roughly by the shoulder and spun him around to face him.

"I'm part of this case, I'm one of the investigators." He removed his credentials with some struggle as his pockets are sticking shut. At least he had the foresight to wear a t-shirt. He didn't think he'd need to carry the thing around at all, their faces should be known around the station by now. Then again, after the Kira case, working in the force has become unusual in many ways in regards to what outsiders can and can't have knowledge of.

The officer squinted through the downpour then took the wallet to look it over. He eyed Mello's photo then the scar.

"Baking accident, satisfied?" Taking back his property he held onto it, his attention returning back to the branch he'd intended to boost himself up with. Addressing the cop, he asked. "Has anyone been up there?"

"Not that I've seen," replied the officer wondering if he'd get a chance to introduce himself; this Mello seemed all business; and what kind of agent uses only a first name... or was it perhaps a surname? "Wouldn't do any good, the boy wasn't killed up there."

"Do you know which way the kid was facing before he fell?" Mello asked more interested in the clues within the situation than the murdered child.

"You'd have to ask the witnesses about that, by the time we'd showed up the boy was already Earthbound." Seeing this as an opening he added. "I'm officer Boivin, by the way." He held out a hand to shake Mello's but withdrew when the hand was ignored. "Do you think this is The Twin-Reapers doing?"

"_The Twin Reaper_?"

"It's what we're calling the madman who slaughtered the Talbott family and those ladies at the hotel. Pretty clever, right? My partner thought of it." He pointed over to a man with a horseshoe pattern of hair on his head and a thick patch of facial hair on his chin but nowhere else. "We've taken the witnesses down to the station for proper questioning if you'd like to see if you can get something out of them."

"Yeah, I'll do that." He scratched his cheek from the itchy feeling of water sliding down his face, then absently smoothed his hair back to remove a majority of water from it; Mello needed to check in with Matt before heading to the station. "Were you all here before it started to rain?"

"Most of us, they sent another unit once it started."

Nodding to himself Mello spared the tree one last look before walking back to the car. The rain let up to a light drizzle by the time he hit the street, and after brushing his hand down his clothes he slid into the car then pulled his phone from the space beneath the car's stereo. Dialing Matt's number he waited for the techie to pick up.

"Where are you?"

"Pub. Want me to bring you something?" Replied his right hand.

"No. I'm heading to the police station to question the witnesses, then I'm going home to change."

"Got caught in the rain- sexy... Wanna play 'What Aren't You Wearing'?"

With a smirk on his face, Mello rolled his eyes. "I'm not stripping in a car in the middle of the city, get your ass back to work, Redfield."

"I'm going by Nivans now."

Matt's laughter was hung up on, then Mello started the car and headed to the precinct.

0 0 0

Mello was through with questioning the witnesses; they'd seen nothing unusual outside of the body. The boy was facing East before he fell from the tree. And he was positioned so that he was looking down as if he were playing up there for fun or simply having a seat for the view. It was the view that Mello was interested in. It could either mean something or nothing in finding out who the killer is, but Mello logged it to memory.

The former Mafia member then busied himself with the crime scene photos. There were many of the victim, zooms of his face, his burnt, closed, eyes. Mello could feel his own affliction sting in empathy. _'The kid looks kinda pale, how long was he up there?'_ Flipping to another photo he looked closely at the one of the branch, taken with the zoom of the camera rather than a cop going up a ladder to examine it. _'It doesn't look like there was a rope used, so how the hell did the unsub get the kid in the tree? I can see the kid's weight securing him, but he'd have to have some kind of skill to hoist a body up a tree without rope.'_

Mello's scenario revisited the idea of a ladder being used. He could see Baron Samedi ascending a ladder with a child slung over his shoulder and just depositing the victim there to be discovered, unfortunately by a little boy.

"The coroner, Dr. Tucker, is still looking over the body..." Officer Boivin addressed not only Mello but Near's agent, a man who'd introduced himself as Rester, as well. "He says he'll have some basics by this evening but he'd like to do a full check-up of the body."

"'cuse me? Boivin? There's a woman out front says she knows the boy, it's his mother." A front desk clerk called into the interrogation waiting room. "Should I get someone else to speak with her if you're busy?" And this she said while glancing from Mello to Rester, two men who looked like they meant business and didn't care for having it interrupted for a weeping Mum.

"No. Send her back." He looked at Rester and Mello. "If you'd like to stay..."

It was open-ended, but, if they were staying, they had the option of following Boivin to his office or waiting until he was finished with the victim's mother. They chose to follow the officer to his office. Mello noticed that what should be a grieving mother, simply looked confused and almost angry. In any case, she should at least be able to answer the question of when her son had been taken. Time slots are just as crucial to a case as the body. It helped to frame areas and to narrow down the killer's operating field.

When the door closed behind the last man in, Rester, the woman took a seat and began...

"My son, Jason, you remember him, don't you?" She asked the officer. "It happened four months ago, he was ice skating with some friends and a block of ice hit him, he died before he could reach a hospital due to his lung collapsing."

"Jason?" Boivin muttered trying to find the name. "Jason Lloyd?"

"Yes. Yes, my husband and I buried him long ago, so you can imagine how devastated I was to see the news and find out that my boy had been found dead again up a tree. What's happened? How can someone do such a thing?"

"We don't know, ma'am. And I'm very sorry that this happened to you." The officer expressed his deepest regards to the poor family.

"You mean your son wasn't killed, but already dead?" Mello asked Mrs. Llyod.

"That's right." Taking in his attire she only blinked as she figured he must be an undercover agent. She's never seen an officer dressed like that. The other man looked American but very official, but she's never seen him before. He must be new to the force. "Who would do something so horrible to my son?"

"We don't know... We're trying to figure that out, Mrs. Llyod." Replied officer Boivin.

Rester offered the woman the photos taken from the crime scene. "Can you look at your son, see if anything about him has been altered?"

"Yes, of course."

"Now I warn you, these are graphic... If you don't think you can handle it.."

"Please, this is for my son... I don't care what I see." She wasn't as emotionally strong as her words because one look at the photos sent her into tears. She took the offered handkerchief from officer Boivin and dabbed her eyes. "His eyes, something's happened to them." Mrs. Llyod kept staring until the photos were removed from her by Rester. "Why would someone hurt him like that?"

Again, no one could offer her an answer; and by the time Rester and Mello left the station they were no closer to solving who the killer was, and had no idea who his next victim would be. The boy wasn't a twin and if he had a look-alike, he wasn't a victim of the man, unless he's been placed somewhere else in the city.

_'It has something to do with the kid's eyes... Why burn them out? Did he see something, or was he not supposed to?'_ Mello slid into the car and closed the door. He got a text from Matt. _'The unsub contacted Quimby last night? What the hell, why didn't that idiot push the alarm?'_ The agent was becoming agitated again, he needed to make a stop at a grocery store for some better brain food.

0 0 0

Matt stuffed another crackling flaky bite of cod into his mouth that's still full of the last bite and chewed the new contents with the old as he wondered over the bottle of rum. 'What was so special about this bottle that the killer had to have a drink from it?' Pinching three crisp fries together he set them down on top of the last bite of fish then shoved it all into his mouth.

He ignored the call from Quimby when Light texted and said he'd go check it out. He, of course, would check in on his own but for now, he preferred to eat and think. Cocking his head, he studied every inch of the bottle when a row of numbers whizzed past his gaze. _'Hm?'_ Looking at the numbers with more care, he then lifted his phone from beside the plate and brought up the map._ 'It's exactly the same as the street address for the park... No way he could have known _that,_ though, not from that distance. Maybe he planted it there, it was unopened...'_

Finishing the rest of the vinegar flavored fries, Matt stuffed the bottle into his satchel beside his laptop, with the money for the food under his plate, he left the restaurant full in the belly and of thoughts about the case.

0 0 0

Inspector Light stood behind Quimby watching words appear on the blank WordPad screen. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to get an impression of but he knew he was bored already. How was Quimby supposed to tell the story from the killer's point of view, if he knows nothing about him? Or any of the reasons behind his killing? Is the guy trying to gain attention in a fictional or non-fictional sense? Does he want the murders explained when he's caught or does he simply want to look clever and come out as an unsolved cold case? It was hard to say, even more, when the journalist has nothing to go on other than he hated what was there and made nothing but lame assumptions left and right down the page.

With a quaint sigh from his lips, Light moved to the kitchen. "I'm going to put on a pot of tea, is there anything specific that you like?"

"I like anything, thank you." Quimby stares at his new words with dread and wonder of how he could make it better.

Despite his fear, he wasn't dead yet, and the killer seemed to want him to tell his tale to a point that instead of replacing him, he, or possibly she, told him to do it over rather than just kill him. He felt kind of special. Was that weird or messed up, as the kids say? Because let's face it, he's not the most popular columnist at the Mirror, and all the other journalist considers him almost like a summer school teacher, only there part-time and when needed, when he's a full-fledged member. Perhaps this sicko sees a kinship with him. Something about that seemed to surge inside of him and his finger clicked the left mouse to hold then he dragged it over his words and erased what he'd done to start anew.

Quimby was a good way into the first chapter when Light entered the living room carrying two mugs of strong scented Black Current tea. His favorite. Accepting the cup, he eyed the well-dressed foreign inspector as Light sat down on the armchair; something about the young agent made him itchy, he has a certain air about him that could either rub you right or wrong depending on the person or maybe even the young man's mood when meeting you? He may be constantly startled by the pair, but he does much better with 'Flambo' and 'Nicorette'.

"I noticed you have a few murder mysteries on your bookshelf..." Light let the statement sit.

Quimby looked over his shoulder to the living room bookshelf as if he'd just noticed he had one. "Yes, I bought them yesterday. I don't usually write, much less _read_, things such as that, so I wanted to study up."

"I see."

Quimby quirked a brow wondering if that was some sort of quiz and if so, had he passed? It seemed like everyone wanted him to be the one doing this. _'Hn. Foreigners. They don't want to be here, and likely want to get it over with quickly so they can go back home.'_

"Had anything been moved around inside of the house?"

"No. He just wrecked my desktop PC, and slipped out." Pointing at the television he added. "He probably went out afterward and did that."

Light didn't bother asking if Quimby followed the news; of course, he does, he's a journalist.

"...Was it another victim of his?" The journalist finally asked. He'd been wondering if he should take notes, and he DVRed the show just in case.

"I don't know, the investigators and police are still checking out the site." Replied one of the investigators who wished he was there himself instead of babysitting the... He's not really sure how to address Quimby.

The man is doing nothing but acting as a liaison for the killer, but somehow he feels like an accomplice as well. Should the man come right out and talk to him, would Quimby tell anyone or remain ignorant to the situation that this psycho needs to be put behind bars and not on display as a good read in the local library.

Light grabbed his phone and touched the screen. He has a text from L. "Do you have somewhere you can go? A friend you can hang out with?"

"Why?" Quimby went back to typing before his mind could blow a fog over the idea that just came to him.

"I have to go. But," he poked a peep-hole through the curtains "the cops are still parking outside watching the house, and I've already checked the place over myself and there's no one here but us."

"You can leave, I'm gonna get a jump on this thing..." His head drooped. "With any luck, he'll come by to look in again and be caught this time."

"With luck." Replied Light. "Take care of yourself."

"Same to you." He waved then went back to his work with the sound of a closing door in the background.

Light walked down the stone stairs just as a young woman was walking over.

"Hello," she greeted with a very faint British accent. Pointing a finger at the front door she asked. "Is Ellis inside?"

"Yeah, he's home today." Replied the inspector eyeing the short woman standing beside him. Her pixie cut brown hair looked nice against her large blue eyes as she stared up at him with kindness. Her thin hands held tightly to a basket of scones that swayed before she moved. "I've brought him something to cheer him up, he hasn't been coming into work very often and... well... you know.."

"Yeah. I'm sure he'll appreciate it." Light continued by then paused. "What's your name?"

"Dana Hightower, nice to meet you." She released one hand from the basket to shake Light's hand.

"Nice to meet you, I'm agent Lethal."

"Scary name. Well, good afternoon, then." She walked up the stairs then knocked on the door.

Light watched Quimby peek through the curtains to see who was there before the front door pulled open to allow the woman inside.

...

At the Leigh House hospital. Light and L are finishing up with the younger man's physical therapy and are currently walking through the self-revolving door and out into the parking lot.

Light flexed his trembling right hand in and out; after playing catch with L for the past half hour it was a little sore. He couldn't help but squint at the handicap. It never bothered him all day, just when he writes a lot or holds onto anything heavier than a small laptop without assistance from his left hand.

The weather had cleared up gorgeously and the patrons were taking advantage of it by jogging or strolling around the courtyard for their own physical therapy. A few nurses were even taking a cigarette break.

"Good work today," commented L. "We should head back now and you can rest; I'll even give your hand a massage." He said those words as though he were fishing for nothing short of an enthusiastic 'yay' at the prospect.

"I feel fine." Walking through the lot he paused to wait for a car to drive through before heading across the street. "We should have done a few more tosses."

"Mmmm," the detective made it sound as if he were truly debating the suggestion, only to change his mind. "No. I really don't think you need to be nursing arm pain, and possibly back sprain from pushing yourself past the limit."

"Do you honestly think it would be that bad?" Light opened the door to the passenger's side of the town car then he climbed in and buckled up.

"One never can tell with muscle spasm, it's a gypsy, never staying one place or even in one way."

Crossing his arms Light shook his head. "That's ridiculous, and you know it." A rich sugary scent caught his sense of smell when L closed the door on his side, looking around he spots a donut shop across the street that must have been starting a fresh batch for the day if the smell was that strong from such a distance. "You just want donuts, don't you?"

Turning his head, he pointed his index finger at Light. "No one likes a finger pointer." He stuffed the key into the ignition and started the car. "It's more than that, they have this S'mores milkshake that'll become your new religion."

"I'll have to take your word for it." It sounded way too rich for Light's blood, and he occupied himself with looking through his phone while being driven across the street to the Golden Balls donuts.

"What's been going on with that young boy from the park?" L inquired as he pulled the car up to the ordering window.

Light waited for him to finish ordering before he spoke. "According to Mello, the kid has been dead since the beginning of the year. His name was Jason Llyod and his mother came down to the station and Idd him." He scrolled through the text in his phone messages. "Mello said Mrs. Llyod couldn't figure out why someone would burn his eyes out when Jason had died from a lung collapsing; the coroner's report is still ongoing." Turning off the phone, he watched L gesturing to him with his hand, knowing what the detective wanted he removed a hole from the assorted bag and pressed it to L's lips so he could eat it. "How about you? How are your cases coming along?"

"I finished them all last night," he replied before leaving his mouth ajar for another morsel to find its way inside and he spoke as he chewed. "I've been bored as of late."

Light understood boredom, but L doesn't have the other matter of being cooped up in the hospital along with that boredom. "You've always got games."

Thumbing his bottom lip with his thumb, he says in a downtrodden voice. "But with you on the case, who is there for me to play with? The staff?" His mind went back to Watari and his hand tightened on the leather steering wheel.

Noticing the bitter, almost invisible, gesture, Light offered a hand. "Have you tried Near? He doesn't go out."

"Near?" L made a thoughtful hum. "Near... Why not Near." Smiling; his appetite became restored and at a red light he grabbed a chocolate hole for himself popping it into his mouth, taking the time to suck the glaze from his fingertips.

Light wondered how well that was actually going to go. Near is sort of anti-social from what he can tell about the teen. But then again, so is L. If the situation was a person, that scenario was going to make 'awkward' very uncomfortable.

0 0 0

Matt is back at the manor researching information about Sie Moriuchi, Misa Amane's former best friend. She's attending university for culinary arts and showcasing herself as a pagan on weekends with a web series she and another friend have put together. He contacted the police in the area and told them to pick her up, he'd interview her via laptop with a monogram M on the screen. He'll be able to see her but she won't be able to see him. The interview was scheduled just a bit later today, which gave him time to look for street footage from the night before when he and Mello chased the unsub from the night club.

He'd gotten in around the same time L and Light came back from their outing; he didn't know where they'd gone, but he could figure it was the hospital. He'd undergone the same sort of schedule when he needed check-ups after the shooting, more so after being plugged in the head. He'll never know how he got so lucky to escape brain damage, but he lives and breathes, and is back to get up to more things that could get him killed.

Matt still can't figure out L. The man seems stand-offish but when you look at him and he sends you a secret smile, you feel he's approachable and human. The detective even offered him a honey glazed donut hole when they passed each other in the corridor. But then there are the other times when L seems like he'd chew your head off for so much as being in the same room as he is. It left Matt wondering which person was the true detective and which, if either, was an act.

_'Thank you,'_ He thought as the city network booted up on his laptop. It was nice to see some parts of Winchester got their act together and went digital. He wasn't sure he knew where to go to get city camera footage, but it was probably some big corporation. _'There we are...'_

He sped up the footage and about ten minutes in the unsub came into view, hobbling, as the busybody woman who lives beside the Talbott's had reported he did. He didn't address the camera as if he knew he'd been seen by it. He probably didn't even know it was there at all. Matt leaned forward to get a better view of the spook waiting in line like any normal pedestrian. Nobody is paying any attention to him, and he isn't giving off any alarming behavior or signs that he wants anything but to get into the club.

After a six minute wait, the Baron was admitted into the club. Matt sped up the feed then switched to a five-way screen to view each camera feed that is set up around the club. He felt bile move up into his throat at what he saw next. The Baron shot out of the club and into the dark alley and, like a slap in the face, he simply pressed himself into the wall of the building right in front of the club. A black building. With his hat, cape, and shaggy black hair the man became invisible. It was like watching a magic trick.

Matt rewound the footage and watched it again and again. There. Gone. There. Gone. Fuck. _'He literally disappeared, right before our eyes. He never moved once he hit that wall; we looked around that whole area like fucking...'_ His fist hit the tabletop.

He could have tossed the laptop, really. He was that angry. Matt's attention returned to the screen when he and Mello finally departed from the screen. The unsub stuck around for another five minutes then he took a step back from his hiding place and casually walked away.

_'I feel like I'm being pranked right now,'_ He took out a cigarette then lit the tip. _'Next thing you know some douchebag is gonna pop out of the closet and tell me I got punked. How is it even possible for someone to do something like that? I can't hide in plain sight... few could...'_

But when thinking about it, he's often had times when he'd walk into a room and not so much as sense someone who's been sitting there for a while. Just look at when L and Light had arrived like thieves-in-the-night, he didn't notice either of them until he was addressed by the detective.

Blowing out a puff of smoke; he called Mello. He may as well get it out there so the man can vent out of throwing range. "Mel' where are you?"

"Supermarket."

"The market?"

"What do you want?" He felt no need to explain.

"The other night when the unsub pulled a vanishing act on us, it was no shit, he literally disappeared before our eyes by hiding in the darkness against a dark building. He was standing right there and we didn't see him." He can hear a telltale sound of a bite of chocolate snapping away from its whole.

"You saw the video?" He asked once his mouth was clear of food.

"I can send you the freak show now." It took a minute but the file was then sent to Mello's phone.

"Son of a bitch... That's..."

"I know, I didn't know what to say either. Creep knows how to keep it interesting... Do you think he thinks we're gonna tell this stuff to Quimby so he can write about it?"

"It's possible. How else would Quimby know the finer details?" Another snap sounded down the line and then another.

"It would explain why the Baron told him to write the rough draft over, Quimby was writing for himself from what I got from the pretty boy's visit to him."

"We're just supposed to feel comfortable giving notes to a suspect." Mello scoffed. "For all we know it is a two man job and Quimby is playing dumb."

"Either that or the sick little nobody is starting to get into it." Matt continued with his train of thought after a pause. "Can you imagine being a nobody then something like this comes along and your name is on everyone's lips? Rester mentioned that he's been backing off the media that calls the journalist for interviews. That's enough to give anyone a swelled head, regardless of the means that it gets there."

"Have you contacted Moriuchi yet?"

"Five minutes to wait."

"Okay. I'll head back after I check out the park, I need to look at the tree more thoroughly. There's something about it that's nagging me."

"Like how the kid got up there without being hung?" Matt opened a screen for skyping then went back to his conversation. "Even if he was pulled up by a rope, the guy would still have to be close to the branch to position him. This is becoming a cluster-fuck of confusion."

Mello had no words just silent agreement. "I'll see you when I get back."

"Later." Hanging up, he pressed record on the video and after three minutes the interview began.

...

L stood in the doorway of Watari's bedroom. The darkness brought on by the closed curtains cooled his face as he walked inside, closing the door behind him. L took a breath and sighed in thought that Watari would never occupy this space again. The man's scent would be erased from the space being disturbed by tourist coming in and out when the detective isn't using the manor as a home. He supposed he could lock the door and seal the room off from the general public but it would do no good. It would be purposeless.

L's thin fingers ran across a chess set resting along the wall of the room. He and Watari played often, the scores weren't kept but the enjoyment was. The detective gave pause when a memory engulfed his mind.

He was nine-years-old the first time he'd challenged Watari to the game; L couldn't concentrate on the game when behind him Backup and A were chatting, or rather B was chatting and A was studying, though, listening to the strange boy's words. B wondered why Watari followed L all the time, he wondered if the man was his handler and why he'd even need one. He wondered if he, L, knew his position wasn't so special if it would be taken away from him by A or himself.

It was very annoying, to say the least. He knew nothing about B, but B knew his name. Whenever the other had found a moment where he could talk to him he'd always called him by his given name Errol or his surname Lawliet, never by his alias L. He'd even called A by his real name, Adel or Armina. He didn't know about Shinigami eyes back then, he didn't know anything about them except it was more muttering children do on the playground. He'd only had access to sorted information during a brief involvement in a strange case dealing with a middle school student and his playing God. It seemed so far-fetched and ridiculous to be true, but then there was Backup and his strange habit of knowing names without having met the person before.

But having questioned one of the creatures during the Kira investigation, he learned much about them, and their mysterious abilities. It means nothing now. The Kira investigation is closed, and hopefully, the killer notebook will never show itself in the human world again, and that all similarities to the case have nothing to do with this current one. He hated dancing in the palm of someone who could have or have not a power such as the Death Note. The only plus side is that there's no mystery, they know what they're dealing with, but the product is far too dangerous to be at ease regardless.

As if his spark had been restored L moved over to the closet and opened the solid wood door. He touched the perfectly pressed and aligned suits and remembered the man who wore them. He wanted to be L. Watari was L. He had to take the man's place and he wanted to do it. And once it was done, he, L, wanted more. And now, if it were possible through osmosis, he would give it all back to have Watari again, for even a few days.

Closing the door, he turned around and grabbed the chess set then walked it out of the room then went to find the one nearest to L.

x x x

Commentary: First, thank you, Guest and JJ for the review. And thanks to all of you for reading this. I'd also like to apologize for the especially long wait for an update, I got rocked last month and through to the middle of this month, and as if my bad body weren't problematic enough, I got six teeth pulled all at once. So I'm recovering entertainingly, and productively when I'm not spacing out. And thankfully my curiosity isn't crazy enough to see any more of that D.N. drama than the one as well.

JJ, I'd like to explain the reason for just mentioning Matt's drug use instead of going into it, I had a beta for a completely different story who told me that I give too much away too soon and I should learn to let things come gradually, so I'm practicing that. It will come up later, though, or in the sequel to this. My grammar sucks, and having no human means of fixing it, it'll probably always suck because Grammarly is something special that's for sure. I am doing my best not to be too bad.

"And although the sly references that bust through the fourth wall (DeSilva? snosh) pull me out of the story like in-text Author's Notes, they are not unappreciated." I don't know what that means at all, but I'm sure I don't put author's notes around intentionally, my explanations might come off that way, so I'll watch out for that. And I'm 30, I write for all kinds and know I'll be read from all ranges, so it's all good dear reader.


	9. Everything Can Be Misleading

When you look into the mirror, what do you see? The opposite of you.

I am that being which you aren't. I am that strange and wretched thing that can't be explained. Alien. That freak occurrence happening once in a while. A stark red moon. I am a freak of nature. Imagine being out in a forest and you look up and see a tree attached, whole limb, to another fully grown tree. ...You would cock your head, furrow your brow, take a step back then walk away feeling your skin crawling from your muscle and bone. You'd never want to see that sort of thing again.

That strange thing is Me. I'm out there, and you're out there. I see _you_, and I'll make you see _me_.

I'm not a ghost. I am not a ghoul. But there's something about me, surely different from she, him, or you. I'll furrow your brow, steal your smile and leave you infected with grief. I'll make you take notice. I'll give you no choice. So, go on, look into the mirror.

_Byran Holmes raised his head to one of his co-workers who just walked onto the elevator. "Hold the door!" He hoisted the heavy boxes in his arms up to a better hold then sighed in frustration. 'Didn't he bloody see me?' Wondered the stressed worker becoming more so with each passing minute. He had to get his things to the editor before one and he's only got fifteen minutes to get to the print house. Every second counted._

_Calm blue eyes met with a dark brown desperation, and leaning forward the border pressed the button to head to the lobby. He didn't wave or give an apologetic expression, he simply carried on as if he hadn't noticed or heard a thing._

_'Didn't he bloody see me?' Wondered the stressed worker becoming more so with each passing minute._

_Byran had to get his things to the editor before one and he's only got fifteen minutes to get to the print house. Every second counted. Apparently not to Guy Swartz who's probably in his car and gone off to home by now._

_"Alright, set back, but nothing major." He muttered to himself. Walking over to the elevator, he pushed the button waiting for the ancient heap to ascend to his floor._

_Walking onto the elevator he pressed the button and stood in wait to exit in the garage. He checked his watch when walking off the elevator, he's got time. Good! But when he arrived at his car he saw that someone had smashed into it leaving it parked diagonally in the space that he'd parked in perfectly._

_'Seriously? Who would do something like this?' Spinning a circle, he looked around the garage as if the culprit lay in wait to watch the hilarity of his annoyance and confusion but there was no one. Not even a feeling. 'Minor setback. I've got to get to the printers.'_

_But the building was closed when he arrived. It was as if the entire planet was against him right now. His boss was going to kill him for this. Or so he'd thought. Because the next day at work Byran Holmes found out that his work had been turned in earlier by someone else._

_He sat in his cubical very confused as to why someone would turn in his assignment. He wonders, even more, how said person had gotten his assignment to have done it. It was a real mystery. A mystery until Wanda Simpson walked out of the bosses office shaking his head as he tells her that she's just received a raise for the amazing work she's done on his assignment!_

_It left him feeling empty. Byran was sure he was given the assignment to write about the situation at Collision park, but it would seem he'd been overlooked. Didn't his boss have faith in him that he would get it done? This wasn't the first time in which he'd been slighted like this and many other ways. Was it something he'd said or done? Is he being punished? He can't figure out what he'd done to deserve such treatment._

_'What's wrong with me?'_

_He's at home looking at his reflection in the mirror, trying desperately to find a flaw in the system. But all he sees is himself. Brown hair. Brown eyes. A friendly face, but virtually a boring human being. But he's no more boring than anyone else. So then why is he being... ignored? That didn't seem to fit. He felt more like he was being cast aside. A nothing that's not there._

_'Am I a nothing? But how? Why? I'm friendly, I'm a hard worker. I've never done anything wrong that I can think of... So then what?'_

_He smiled at his reflection but it didn't quite reach even his lips, it was just a dry elevation of the corners of his mouth._

Quimby nodded when his friend lowered her eyes from the sheaf of paper. "Well?"

Dana looked confused then looked over the words again believing she must have missed what was making her co-worker so excited, but she remained at a loss. "I don't get it, really. What's it supposed to be?" Setting the paper down on the kitchen table like it was dirty, the woman shrugged her bony shoulder.

"I'm um... I'm writing something; all this grief has got me swimming in worry and my worry has sort of found an outlet." He picked a chunk from one of the scones Dana brought over and popped it into his mouth.

"Ohh, so you mean you're writing about the freak who keeps abducting you, for the paper?"

"Yes! Exactly!" He lied. He wasn't sure what all he could tell her, so he figured if she thought it was a piece for the paper she wouldn't get him in trouble with those foreign inspectors or the police. "I thought it would make for a great piece."

"Speaking of," she decided to get down to the point of her visit. "When are you coming back to work at a normal pace? We're all wondering if you maybe didn't stage this for attention from Mr. Hanley,"

"Why would I...? How could I even do something like this?" Quimby was starting to think maybe his friend's list needed to be shortened because Dana was surely not seeing him as someone to care about or to be concerned about. _'Why is she even here? To bother me or see if I'm faking my PTS? Probably the latter... Mr. Hanley no doubt thought I'd spill my guts to her about how this is all an image stunt.'_

His gaze squinted at her and she looked back at him doe-eyed but not all that concerned.

At the manor.

Near's dark charcoal gaze watched as the World's Greatest detective stepped into his rooms with a chessboard built-in to a table, but the thing that made the young detective's brow raise was the long black suit slung over L's forearm. The lanky detective moved with a purpose and set the game table down beside him on the sofa, then he proceeded to grab a single chair from the corner of the small living room area.

"Stand up, please," Asked the visitor in a tone as flat as glass, considering how strange the situation was, it would have been less concerning if the detective used a comical clowns voice instead.

Near dropped his elevated foot to the floor then stood before L, his shorter frame wasn't even noticed because of how slighted over the older detective is, and before he could ask what this was about the suit was pressed to his chest and examined visually by L's immense gaze. His head cocked back and forth as he seemed to be wondering something about what he's seeing.

It was too much, especially when L muttered that the hair was the same. Near then had to ask. "Is this Mr. Watari's?"

"Hmm?" L made it seem as though he were interrupted from something more likely for him to be doing than sizing suits against the younger detective. "Yes, he has all of these custom made suits, I was getting the game table when I thought about what a shame it would be if they went to waste just sitting hung up in the closet of his room."

Near felt like he was being put on, but he left it alone and refused the suit by pushing it aside. "I don't think Mr. Watari's five foot eleven frame would fit me, and the shoulders are off as well. Perhaps Light could get better use out of them?"

"Mm. You could be right." Setting the suit aside over the back of his chair, he takes a seat then gestures to the table. "Care for a game?"

Near eyed the man for a moment, wondering if he was alright. But he supposed there was no real harm in L's behavior so he joined him for a game of chess sitting down on the sofa he'd just vacated for that awkward situation.

"This was the first game I'd ever played with Quillish," L began as the game came to a pause while they pontificated their next few moves. "I lost to him because I'd gotten distracted by Backup talking about me. I was so humiliated by that loss. The win had been mine, but there I was listening in on a conversation pointedly going on."

"Oh?" Near moved his white rook on the board.

"They were wondering about my relationship or at least B had been. I don't think A ever paid him any real attention, he was always so busy with studying."

"He was more than a mentor, Quillish was a challenge, an obstacle to beat. He was the original." L moved the bishop taking Near's knight. "It had started out that way, but as time progressed he became a close friend. I believed that and believed he'd felt the same way about me. Neither of us ever said the words."

"Most of the time friendship isn't declared, it's not a relationship, it's more of a happenstance."

L looked at the bright young man before him and wondered if he thought of them as a 'happenstance'?

They play in silence pausing for ten minutes or four to think over a move or to simply sit in silence with their own thoughts. Now and then Near would steal glances at the detective then return his gaze to the board. It wasn't until their silence was broken by L commenting on a particularly good move that Near made when the younger detective decided to speak.

"L, is the position still open to become the next L?"

L lowered the pawn to the board then looked across the table at his companion.

Deciding to keep going with his question Near stated boldly. "Kira replaced you miserably during the Kira case before you could declare Mello or me, or maybe even some other candidate, in your place..." He left the statement open.

"Do you believe this case is a test for the two of you or others?" L added the more because they never knew, he could pick another person from the school. It hasn't broken up over the death of its founder, and he's gone over the records since his seclusion. He could very well pick someone else from Mello or Near. "Near, based on what I've seen between you and Mello I can say there's no clear-cut choice." He moved another piece. "Mmm," his thumb played against his bottom lip as he thought. "I'm wondering if there's ever been a need to choose? You and Mello have many attributes to gain it, but complete each other where the other is afraid to venture rather than where you lack."

Near was silent hearing that. It wasn't entirely something he disagreed with, he'd once told Mello he thought that they should work as a duo. But it was the lost look on L's face that was upsetting him. Then L began to speak again.

"When I was twelve-years-old I found myself with the toughest case to crack, it was a man and his partner, they were making living Frank-..."

Near looked like he'd been struck on the head, and when his pinched expression left him it took action by his slamming his hand down on the tabletop with a force that knocked the pieces to the floor. "Enough!" It wasn't so much a shout as he'd raised his voice well enough that had his volume been a physical thing it would thump against the back wall of the room.

L didn't look put out, just concerned at the sudden outburst from a person so unlikely to do it.

"This isn't tit-for-tat, this is about there being no place for an L." His words ground from his mouth like grit made from glass, and though his feelings have never needed to be voiced before he felt they needed to be now. Especially now. "You've gone away- locked away in a cell by Watari's death. You're just existing through bars now, and you don't even seem to care... We can't inherit what's gone away and been poorly replaced," By which he meant Light. "There's no victory, no gain; we'd be bullying a baby at this point, going for a title that no longer has a meaning. ...Either you get it back... or go away."

L could only blink at the teen's words. Hard to hear, and even harder to acknowledge. Stepping down from the chair he began to gather up the chess pieces from the floor and set them inside the table. "I'm sorry you've come to feel this way." He said softly, closing the lid on the game.

"I'm sorry that it's true..." Replied the young detective.

"I'm afraid a tree tends to be nothing without its taproot." L walked out of the room without another word. Carrying the suit and the game, unfinished, along with him.

0 0 0

Matt felt the need to take notes, or at least appear like he was. Anything was better than having his full attention on the blather drabbles of Sie Moriuchi. The interview had started out rather normal. He asked her how she was doing since the death of Misa Amena not all that long ago and she said she was fairly sad, after all, she's known Misa since they were six. But managing a kitchen helps to distract whenever she misses the plucky, almost childish woman.

But then things took a turn as she began spewing her Neopaganism non-sense his way about death and rebirth, reincarnation and soul stealing. That was when he'd zoned out when she spoke about energy and how it could stick to anything, even another person. To the marrow. How she's sure that Misa is still out there somewhere, that a death as tragic as hers would have left some pretty powerful energy behind. She and the others in her group practice nature-related spirituality, and how she might come across a flower that could actually be Misa.

He was just about to lock-and-load into his skull when he remembered the specifics he wanted to ask her. "Miss Moriuchi, can we stay on topic?"

"Of course," Moruichi smoothed a hand through her hair then adjusted her glasses, hardly ruffled by another non-believer not in the mood to listen to the divine teachings of the enlightened. "What do you want to know?"

"Do you remember about a year or so ago when you and Misa Amane were sending those occult tapes around Tokyo?"

"Yeah, pretty funny gag, right? Don't tell me," she took on a smart-assed expression. "Don't tell me this about that? Are you planning to arrest me? Are you a cop?" She scoffed. "I have my rights, you know, and those videotapes were harmless."

"Those 'harmless' video tapes fueled the fire for 320 deaths within two months."

"Because of _Kira_ getting upset because he thought he had competition, it had nothing to do with Misa or myself," she smiled then and with a sheepish look on her face she added. "Isn't it interesting how lovely the hydrangeas bloomed that time of year considering the filth killed in order to make them. I know I slept easier with the deaths of those criminals."

"I would have figured they'd be turned into astral fertilizer, and continue killing anything they touched."

"Hn. Death can be very humbling, Mr. M," she didn't know what else to call him since his name was left out of the conversation along with his face, so all she sees is the large letter M on the screen. "Even the worst of people can't flee from a kinder fate."

"I'm sure," he didn't bother hiding his boredom as he spoke. "Didn't you find it odd that Misa wanted to make those tapes at all?"

"No. I happen to have a web series about occult topics with my friend Brienna Trang, we do things like that all the time."

"But you don't go sending them around to television stations looking to scare people, now do you?"

"It was a jooooke, ugh," her frustration was getting the better of her now. "Why is this important? If you're planning to arrest me you have no grounds or proof to do it, so this conversation is just a waste of both or our time and energy. I'm innocent. If you want the real culprit find an ouija board." She may as well lie, what would they know about a private moment that she and Misa had?

Misa made the tapes, and she took care of the rest. It was her idea to send them around to the television and radio stations, she thought it would be funny what with all the Kira theories floating around. And it was funny, at first, but then with the whole Kira investigation going on and the cops being hypersensitive to the matter, the laughs got old quick. Thankfully, Misa also didn't want to keep it up. After they'd stopped sending them out, she really didn't see much of Misa anymore. She'd gotten some new boyfriend who was nothing but trouble for her, she was even accused of being the second Kira! That's how out of their minds the police force had become over it.

"We're tying up loose ends on the Kira investigation," Matt explained.

"Loose ends? That was some years ago, plus it must have been a success because when was the last time anyone saw any activity from Kira second or otherwise?"

"Misa Amane is dead, we were wondering if she maybe had any instructions for you or anyone else she may have known? Something said discretely at the time, and you maybe thought it had been nothing..." He didn't want to lead her, but he was running out of patients with this conversation.

"Had she had any instructions for me what makes you think I'd tell it to you?"

"Because I'm the law, and it's your civic duty to help law enforcements with investigations."

She was quiet.

"Or maybe you'd prefer I arrest you for something a little closer to home? A certain activity that took place a few months back in Osaka. I'm sure the animal activist would-"

Moruichi paled then cleared her voice. "I wasn't given any instructions," sang the canary, "and as far as I know Misa didn't really get close with many other people- life of an entertainer I suppose. She knew me from childhood and we never drifted apart in spite of her career. But, eventually, she had ditched me for some guy. I'm sure if you look him up, you'll find an answer to your many questions because I'm clueless."

"Thank you. Good day, Miss Moriuchi."

"Yes, good day." She was cut from the feed.

Leaning back in a bowed slouch, Matt sighed. "Well, that was a dead end, granted she's not lying... So, Misa's dead. But that doesn't rule out a death note."

Matt figured that the boyfriend Moriuchi was talking about must have been Light Yagami. Who else? And Light wouldn't tell them about another strain of the Death Note existence, amnesia or otherwise. Their only solace is to just get lucky and that not be it in this case.

0 0 0

It was a small root growing from the soles of his feet. It's not the usual kind of tree root that grows down into the earth, this root grows upward and outward, but the bloom is anything but beautiful. It's ugly and clawing, it decays all around it like a Black walnut tree without the time it takes to poison the Earth in which it lives. And in Byran Holmes, it spread like wildfire. Every hiccup or slight fed the fire better than wind or wood ever could.

_Byran walked away from the counter with a medium popcorn, a small soda, and a candy bar weighing his front left pocket. He's been dying to see __No Shelter__ since the trailers began airing. The room was really filling up, some people were even asking others for their seat so they could sit with the person or persons that they'd gone to the theater with._

_Byran watched a couple giggling and tilting into one another as they worked their way through the seated movie-goers until they could find someone to offer a seat to them. He noticed the chair beside him had remained empty, and waited patiently to kindly offer his seat to the pair. He didn't mind, there had to be a seat left for him once he got up. But rather than being asked for his seat, the girl cheered and made her way through the rows of occupied chairs until she was beside him to take a seat, her boyfriend's ass was close enough to kiss had Byran formed the letter 'P' with his lips._

_"Hey! Hey!" he protested, his popcorn and soda were raised up from his lap and held out to prevent them from being squashed into his about to be sat on lap. "I'm sitting here!"_

_The man turned around and eyed Byran like he'd been the one trying to beat him to the seat, and his gaze never left the man until eventually Byran just scooted away. He heard the man's girlfriend, or perhaps even a wife, ask "What was that?"_

_"I don't know." Replied the coupled man._

_Byron looked around the room, still lit up before the film started, but finding no empty seats, he left the theater room figuring he could wait until the next showing. The only problem is he hated standing around for two hours doing nothing, so it seemed time to complain._

_"Excuse me," he said to one of the ushers standing beside the screening room. "I lost my seat to this guy, I was wondering if I could go in and see the next showing?"_

_The usher cocked his brow as if the man had just spoken to him in Mandarin. "Umm, I don't think you're allowed to do that,"_

_"But I paid for a ticket, you can't tell me not to see the movie."_

_Again the man's brows furrowed. "Would you like to see something else instead? There are still seats left for __Roulette__."_

_"Roulette?"_

_The usher gestured to the room he's standing beside._

_"Well... I guess I... I could," Opening the door he looked around the room for an empty seat._

_There, three rows from the front he spotted one. He had to move a bucket of popcorn laced with cinnamon Mike&amp;Ikes, belonging either to the man on his right or the man on his left, but the owner of the customized snack didn't even notice or care that it had been replaced to the shared arm of the chairs, he just stuffed his hand into the bucket and pulled out a palmful to eat._

_The movie was more violent than Byran had expected, it was unusual, though, because he's a squeamish man and has a tendency to cover his eyes during things like this. He'd never actively seek to see a movie like this, he wanted to watch the romance film he'd paid for but that didn't happen. So here he is watching with wide, but interested eyes each time the killer knifed or bashed in his victim's skull. It was incredible! The killer had no mask over his face, no shield from his wrong doings, and yet he was there doing it. How could he be so brave? So bold-faced?_

_Byran could never do something like that. Someone would see him, scream their throat hoarse and he'd be sent to jail fast. But, then again... His mind flashed back to the man who'd taken his seat in the viewing room he should have been in. He didn't seem to notice him, not where it mattered. And his girlfriend considered him a '_that_'! That's not right._ _He wondered if he'd be looked at funny if he told the man next to him that he wished the killer would get that couple who stole his seat by ignoring him?_

Byran felt something in those thoughts. He realized that if he was willing to think about it that much, hurting someone who didn't notice him even that much, then what harm could it do to exact some revenge? He wouldn't kill them, he would just scare them a little. Fear tends to help ease a battered mind. If only kids at these schools would realize such a thing, then they wouldn't actually shoot or bomb the place, they'd just allow the others, the disrespecting brats, to know that they meant business if things didn't change. So he followed the pair after they left the theater...

_He waited for the couple to pass by him as he hid in the darkness between two buildings. They were whispering sweet something's to each other, laughing about the idea of such lavished care, and when they were a good few feet away from him Byran darted from his hiding place. He raised the lid of a trashcan up and bashed the man with it right against the back of his neck._

_He staggered forward then came to a slumped stop; his hand was up at his neck trying to ease the pain. His girlfriend gasped and spun around to see who could have done such a nasty thing, but when her gaze settled on Byran she then turned to her boyfriend and asked if he was alright._

_"Yeah, I'm fine. What the hell is going on tonight?" He asked. The man smiled when his girlfriend kissed the back of his neck in cute little peppered-pecks._

_Byran had had enough..._

_The metal of the lid bent in before the man's face had, and with a new strength of the scrunched in metal Byran became a killer. The man's significant other stood there with her mouth covered and her eyes wide from the shock of what she was witnessing. But she didn't scream. It only acted as fertilizer to the new thing growing inside the invisible man. Byran's got up from the dead man and stalked over to the girlfriend._

_"Wh... wh..." She tried to form words as his small hands clamped down around her throat. "Why are you doing this?" She managed to whimper that when her back hit the street lamp pole._

_"Because you asked me too," his grip tightened. "Can you see me now?"_

Quimby stretched his arms over his head; his laptop posture was really uncomfortable whether he be seated on the sofa or at the computer desk. Rubbing his lower back he stood up from the couch then walked to he window. It's dark out. His stomach began to knot up. Because of this lunatic, nights made him very uncomfortable. Maybe things would take a better turn once the killer-_ if _the killer- reads his new material. Leaving the living room he fixed himself a couple sandwiches and grabbed a hard cider from the fridge then he took it to his bedroom.

0 0 0

Mello swore into the night of busy sounds, sights, and various smells. It was just like this case in a way. Some of it's good and some of it's bad. And most notably, it's an entire melting pot of nothing in particular. He got up the last rung of the borrowed ladder and helped himself onto a branch. Even as a child, he can't recall ever having or wanting to climb trees. Some of Wammy's hid up there whenever they played hide-n-seek, but he was never one of them. It wasn't that he was afraid to climb, it just served no purpose to him sitting around in a tree most of the day.

F, in particular, liked to climb trees, and would often throw down pine cones at some of the soccer players. Fish was an annoying little fucker, that he spent a moment wondering what happened to him after he'd left the school. Mello could guess the tree hugger never got far, how could he? He was a fine enough investigator, but he wasn't serious about it. And despite how relaxed your style could be when hunting criminals, Fish didn't have any drive for it at all. No. A guy like him would be better suited for the evidence rooms.

Mello smirked at the thought of the most laid back guy in the school sitting around amongst collected items. Amazing at a job he seemed more born for, sitting and doing nothing for hours. Lifting his binoculars, Mello looked out into the glow of the city. It was different from the states or even Japan. It wasn't as luminous, it was more like a bulb with a dimmer, and the dim was a medium. Looking up the agent could see the stars in the sky. Definitely not something possible in a larger city.

He'd gone back to the manor to refuel with a milk chocolate magnum in the kitchen while he got the details of Matt's interview with Sei Moriuchi, and more than happy that nothing came of it. Afterward, he checked in with L who, for some reason, slapped one of Watari's suits against his chest, cocked his head contemplatively then told him that he was fine, before moving away to his work desk. Something was up, though, that much was obvious with how strangely Near was acting as well. And he gladly didn't stick around for an awkward dinner.

_'This investigation has been one late move after another... We must be missing some big hint, this guy obviously wants us to know what he's doing and when he's going to do it. He wants to be caught. He wants to be noticed. He wants the story tacked onto him about how he garnered attention from the police, baffled and confused them while he was able to kill. The Baron wants to have his name known, alias or otherwise.'_ His thoughts go to Jason Llyod's corpse sitting in this tree, in this very spot. A body already dead. His eyes burned out.

Mello removed a chocolate bar from the pocket of his vest, opening the gold foil he snapped into it bite after bite while he contemplated the case.

Back at the manor, he isn't the only one having trouble sleeping. Light is in bed tossing and turning. L looked over his shoulder from his place at the computer desk where his laptops and desktop computer are set up. It looked to him as though Light was convulsing rather than tossing around in a nightmare. Though curious, Light wasn't exactly in any danger so L resumed his work.

Light Yagami may not have been in physical danger, but his emotions were running on high as he dreamt of a bust gone wrong, and how Matsuda unloaded several rounds into him. The shots, he could feel them all over again as they hit their mark almost like it was a sick game of Dispatch the Criminal. A piece-by-piece puzzle that needed to be taken apart rather than put together. How could that fool accidently shoot him so many times? Was anyone really that dumb? But reliving being shot wasn't what "shot" Light out of his sleep, it was Matsuda's words ringing in his ears.

_"You led your own father to his death,"_ Matsuda had tears in his eyes and in his voice as he spat angrily at him. _"And now that he's gone, you call him a fool!"_

When did he ever call his father a fool? He respected his father and wanted to follow in the man's footsteps. And, more importantly, how had he led his father to his death? The man died on the job. It was a risk all officers and agents agree to undertake when joining the force. So why? It wasn't the first time he's had the dream. Back when he was bed-bound in the hospital, he used to dream of the shooting that put him there, but he never understood what it was. He thought he was dead. In limbo. No longer in control of what he sees or knows. He actually had expected to see nothing, but there were images and voices like he was dreaming. And having woken up in the care of L, he knows now that he had been. Alive and dreaming. But he could make no sense of it, until L told him what had happened and how he got shot.

"Are you alright?" L's words were meant for Light but they were aimed at the glowing computer screen before him.

"I'm fine," he swallowed around a dryness in his throat; rubbing his burning left shoulder, he got out of bed and after slipping his feet into the bed-slippers he walked into the bathroom then out with his bottle of painkillers in his hand. "I'll be back in ten minutes."

He didn't want to be fussed over. And he doesn't want to talk about it. So he chose to leave and find something to do in regards to the case and its progress. Something was nagging at him about it that he just couldn't put his finger on. Wandering into the kitchen, he left the lights off, he can see enough of the spacious room from the light pooling in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The blue moonlight mingled with the bright yellow glow from the refrigerator where Light was grabbing for the carton of milk.

He hooked his finger onto the rim of the glass when he poured to ensure the liquid doesn't spill over, and he stopped pouring when a bubble popped against his fingertip. Light sucked away the splash as he returned the drink to the fridge, then he grabbed the glass from the counter and walked it over to the table and sat down to mull over the case. He gasped when an acrid scent wafted through the air, accompanied by a little orange dot hovering in the dark spaces of the kitchen.

"Can't sleep either, huh?" Matt drawled around the cigarette dangling from his lips. He blew out the smoke fogging the space of his mouth, and he raised the screen to his laptop; he'd only just walked into the kitchen, sat at the table, and got himself a cigarette when Light Yagami walked in for some juice. "It seems to be going around, I saw Gevanni in the study down the hall before I came in." He took another drag then blew it out.

"I've been thinking," Light had nothing more to say in the matter.

Not buying it in the least, Matt replied, "Me too. May as well 'think' together, it might help," ashes are tapped into an ashtray off to the right of the laptop. "I've been looking for inconsistencies with the vics- and similarities, but there's nothing too spectacular."

"I figured as much, but maybe that's part of the killer's MO. Maybe they're not supposed to have anything alike, it sticks with his need for misdirection."

"Yeah, this case has a lot of misdirection. But which murder are we supposed to be looking away from?"

They sat in silence, Matt on his laptop looking through the photos of the murder scenes, and Light deep in thought while he nursed his glass of milk. Remembering the ache in his side, he shook a little white pill loose from the bottle into his palm, tossing it to the back of his mouth he then got it down with a few gulps of milk. He didn't stop drinking until the trembling of his right hand ceased.

Matt watched Light with interest and a mix of envy.

"Would you like one? You've been shot too, I understand, we're probably on the same prescription." He leaned the bottle over to the techie.

Matt licked his lips then lowered his eyes to the screen. "No thanks, I'm not allowed anything stronger than Advil or Tylenol. I used to have a drug problem, and that's the most I'm gonna tell you about it."

Light narrowed his eyes. "You know, at some point, you're going to have to drop whatever your issue is with me. I've done nothing yet you all treat me like I robbed you of something or murdered a family member... I'm not out to people please, but what's it gonna take for you to trust me?"

_'Gee, I don't know, being anyone but yourself,'_ thought the gamer. "You're right. Eventually, we'll get over it, just wait for the day." He shrugged his shoulder.

"This is so ridiculous," getting up from the table he walked over to the sink and washed out the glass, setting it in a drying rack.

He exited the kitchen without another word. Light doesn't have time or patience for adolescent nonsense.

Matt snubbed out his cigarette then lowered the screen of his laptop. He's been doing that since the hacking, there was no sense in leaving it open when he wasn't really using it. The crime scene photos are tattooed to his memory. He wasn't about to yield his ill feelings towards Kira, but he couldn't help thinking that maybe they were being a bit crude for treating an amnesiac, Light Yagami, like the Devil Kira was.

Light paused on his way upstairs when seeing Near walking across the hall to his and L's rooms. He wasn't sure if he should give them privacy or interrupt because the conversation could be personal or about the case. In his opinion, if it's case related, he should be in on it. He's not going to take their crap anymore, he's part of this non-traditional team too. And he no longer cares if he has to bulldoze his way into it to be there.

Walking the rest of the way up the stairs, he stopped outside of the door and stood off to the side eavesdropping on the conversation through the crack left in the doorway.

"If you came to apologize..." L began but Near stopped him by interrupting.

"I didn't come to apologize, I didn't even come to explain my reasons why I said what I'd said," Near stood stalk-still behind the detective watching a slew of languages flashing around the screen in pop-up private message boxes. "I meant every word, but, I did want to apologize for not being more understanding to your pain. It took a lot for me to remain focused when we were told about your death. I was angry, I was ready to lash out. Had Mello not covered the bases in that aspect it wouldn't have kept me on course... We didn't know Mr. Wammy as you had, you've known him for most of your life... But it's not an excuse. For that, I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted. Now," L looked over his shoulder as he spoke. "about your situation with Mr. Loud, I'm sending you to see Thomas Maddow,"

Near cocked a brow. "Matt's psychiatrist? Why?"

"Where I don't have a problem with your relationship with him, I am however concerned that- like Matt- you are bringing your work home with you. It's not healthy, and it doesn't create good investigators. It creates addicts."

Near was speechless. Of all the things he'd expected L to say to him, if anything, that was not it. He'd never thought about his main work as a detective. For years he's been the head of many Serious Crimes Units in relation to human trafficking and murders in alleged sex crimes. It's what he does. But to accuse him of being mentally affected by it because he's sleeping with Gevanni seems a bit farfetched. It never struck Near that L could be petty, and was maybe using this as a means of getting back at him for almost pointedly calling him washed up.

"If that's what you see as fit, then I'll see him." There was no fighting it. Why should he? If he believes there's nothing wrong, he'll be accessed and all will be as normal.

"Good. You can start on Wednesday, next month."

"Alright." Heading for the door he said politely. "Good night."

"Good night."

Near wasn't surprised to find Light standing just outside of the door, he doesn't acknowledge him with rudeness or false politeness. He just visibly noted his presence then walked to his bedroom, closing the door on the events that just took place.

0 0 0

"His eyes were burned out," Mello mumbled to himself; looking out into the city via binoculars.

He can see a ton of things a lot closer with those than the naked eye, but he lowered his extended vision in order to look at the GPS on his phone. He wasn't surprised to see that the nightclub he and Matt had visited was in direct eye line with the victim's location.

"Does that mean I should be looking in the opposite direction?" He wondered; tossing his right leg over the thick branch, he swung the left leg over after turning his hips to follow. _'What in this area would be important to our murderer?'_

His gaze traced the streets of the city until he came to a building that screamed with bells and whistles. A funeral home. Baron Samedi is known as an undertaker who picks and chooses who dies. Could this false Baron be someone who works at the funeral home? It was certainly worth a look.

Mello took the ladder down the tree. Hoisting it up under his arm he walked it back to the home he borrowed it from, leaving it against the brick panel beside the garage. Using his phone he dialed Quimby. It's pretty late, and if the killer was planning on contacting Quimby or even at his home right now with intentions of moving him to another victim's location, he may as well interrupt it any way he can.

"Hello?" The man's accent was nearly gone in his drowsy state.

"This is Mello, I wanted to ask how you're doing? Has the killer tried to contact you again?"

"Not that I know of, I've been in bed for the past three hours, and it's still my home,"

To Mello, it sounded like the reporter was looking around his room to make sure he was actually there.

"I'll look downstairs if you want me to,"

"Would you?"

"Just a moment,"

Quimby was quiet for the time it took Mello to get in his car and start it. Then he came back over the line telling him that he didn't see anything different about his house. And that the cops were still sitting in the car right outside his home.

"I'm thinking I should invite them in actually,"

"Do whatever you have to do." Replied Mello. "I'll let you get back to sleep."

"Thanks. I need the rest too, I'm going back to work tomorrow, my boss has been asking for me." He sounded pretty proud of that.

"Good luck,"

It wasn't exactly rude to say, from what Mello understood, no one really thought much about Quimby. If he never worked there, it wouldn't matter at all. But take a look at him now. Suddenly the boss is wondering after him. What that must do for a person.

_'Or to them...'_ Mello wondered over a bite of chocolate about being seen as something when you were once a nothing, as he drove back to the manor.

x x x

Commentary: Sorry it's been ages, I've been draaaaaagged down by this whole can I can't I have sugar thing, and so far the can't I is winning and it's killing me. But, I won't bring down the room. Thanks for reading, and reviewing if you choose too. I wantto say "Hey" to the new readers, and "thank you" to the favorites and alerts, those mean a lot to me too. Reading Death Note isn't easy when there's a sea of things to choose from, so I'm glad you're reading this. I'm gonna go have lunch, spaghetti could you drool? ahaha, see ya.


End file.
